


Familiar Grey

by cervine_salad



Series: Familiar Grey [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Love, M/M, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Secret Relationship, Trans Character, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Keith (Voltron), True Love, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-09-13 17:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16897095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cervine_salad/pseuds/cervine_salad
Summary: Keith and Shiro have... history. They met in college and were together for years, until tragedy struck and the two haven't been able to reconcile since. Now Shiro has shocked Keith with a strange request, and they're going to have to face their feelings again (and again, and again) before this is over. Is it ever really over?





	1. Part One

Keith caught sight of Shiro across the café, his big arms crossed over the table, his scarred nose in a newspaper. A black coffee and a grey button-up half unbuttoned. He looked tired, but happy. He looked up and smiled – bright, warm – when Keith swung into the chair across from him.

“Hey.” Shiro folded the newspaper and set it down. “Thanks for meeting me. I’m sorry it was such short notice. I just had to see you.”  
Keith tried not to visibly stumble over it. It wasn’t like Shiro really meant that. Well, not like he meant it the way Keith might have wanted him to mean it, which was basically the same thing.

“Is everything okay?”

The waiter popped back up to ask Keith if he’d like anything. Black coffee, too. But also a chocolate chip muffin, warmed so the chocolate chips melted a little. He needed something sweet and carb-loaded if he was going to get through this conversation. Whatever it was.

It had been about a year since they’d broken up. Going from Shiro’s number one to Shiro’s… whatever they were had been a stark contrast, to put it lightly. From living together, cooking together, fucking, falling asleep together. Then Shiro landed the new job, something he loved but that took all of his time, and Keith had been depressed since his mother’s death – however predictable it had been, from her illness. And then… then the worst thing, which Keith still didn’t talk about. Didn’t think about. And they stopped talking about it, stopped processing it, stopped wanting to confront the pain together. Slept apart and then eventually in separate rooms. Then Keith had moved out.

After some distance, Shiro had reached out again, said he wanted to be friends. He wanted it to be like the old days, where they were tight-knit friends, sharing everything together – except their bodies. That was sacred, now, and not to be revisited. Keith had agreed to this “friends” thing, after some serious thought. But it was clear it was never going to be like the old days ever again. How could it be?

“Everything’s fine,” Shiro began, taking a lazy sip of coffee while Keith sat basically on the edge of his seat, trying to look like he wasn’t. “Great, actually. I haven’t really said much about it because… I wasn’t sure how you’d feel.”

Oh, great, Keith thought. He masked his trepidation as best he could. “What is it? You can tell me.”

“I’m…” Shiro sat back in his chair, slowly. Keith could have screamed. “I’m getting married.”

It struck Keith the same way as if Shiro had picked up the butter knife in front of him and rammed it straight through his hand, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Oh.”

“I met her at work. She’s one of the in-house lawyers, too, and they brought her on to help me with that big labor rights case. You know, the one at the textiles factory. So, anyway, once all the proceedings were over – of course, because I didn’t want her to feel pressured – I asked her out. And then it just kind of… evolved from there, I guess.”

“How long has it been?” Keith hid his face with his coffee mug.

“About four months. I know it’s not a lot of time… But, you know, sometimes with these things… you just know.”

Keith held the mug up a little too long. He spoke over the rim. “Yeah… that’s true.”

“Anyway, I’m telling you because… we’re getting married kind of soon. She’s getting put on a case in Los Angeles next month, and I have to stay here in New York. So we want to tie the knot before she goes, and we’ll honeymoon when she gets back.”

“That’s… that’s great, Shiro.” Keith forced a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

“Keith…” Shiro leaned in. “I was wondering if… if you’d stand up there with me.” He folded his hands on the tabletop, and Keith had to bite his lip, hard, to keep from wanting to hold them. “I hope it doesn’t… hurt you that I’m asking. I just can’t see it being anyone else.”

“Sure.” Keith looked up as the waiter leaned down to set the steaming muffin before him. Perfect timing. “Of course I will, Shiro. It’s so good to see you happy.”

He stabbed a fork into the pastry with a half-smile.

____

“That is so fucked up.” Pidge stared wide-eyed at Keith over the old vintage radio she was tinkering with on the coffee table. She was sitting legs splayed on the shag rug, her apartment a mess, as usual. But it had a warm, homey feeling, with the sun streaming in through the living room windows, and it was a place Keith felt safe in. Currently, he was wrapped in one of her knitted blankets on the sofa, his head back, staring at the slowly rotating ceiling fan.

“Is it?” Keith deadpanned.

“Yes!” Pidge set down a screwdriver hard on the tabletop. “What the fuck is he thinking? You didn’t tell him you’d do it, did you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Keith!”

Keith lifted his head heavily. “It’s not like I hate him. I just want to see him happy.” He paused, frowning. “He wasn’t happy with me.”

“Keith, that wasn’t your fault. None of that was.”

“Well, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. It’s just how it went. Anyway, maybe it was a sign that we just weren’t meant to be.”

Pidge sighed, knitting her eyebrows in sympathy. “Who the fuck is this girl, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Someone he works with.”

“Oh. A lawyer.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “Of course. Jesus Christ, nothing was ever good enough for him. You went back to school because he said you should finish. You got your nursing degree, passed the boards, and then he said you should be a nurse practitioner. What did he want from you?”

“Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. He’s right, I’d make more money as an NP. But then when all of that was going on, I didn’t have the energy for more school on top of working.”

“Because you were exhausted,” Pidge defended. “And you were going through some seriously traumatic shit! It wasn’t his body. Where did he get off saying th –”

“No, but it still affected him.” Keith shifted, stretching out on the couch and staring off into space above him again. “I know he didn’t blame me for it, but… I don’t know.”

_“I just can’t look at you anymore without… seeing it.”_

Keith flinched at the memory of those words, bouncing back and forth inside the walls of his skull.

Pidge rose from the rug, almost hurriedly, and flopped down next to him on the sofa. She leaned down to wrap him in a warm hug.  
“You know you don’t have to do this for him,” she said. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Keith nodded, silently, a sigh escaping his nose as he turned to accept her embrace. Sometimes one of the hardest things to realize was exactly that, because… no matter how many years had passed, he still felt in his heart that he owed this man everything.

_____

There was a time before it happened – a time that felt like forever ago, now – where they were happy together. Really happy. Like the day they moved in together into their first shitty apartment on the Upper East Side, when Shiro had just graduated law school and Keith was still a nursing student, and they were broke as shit, but they loved each other. That was the only thing that mattered. It was enough.

Shiro was setting an overstuffed box down on the kitchen floor with stacks of others, and the door swung heavily shut behind him. “That’s the last of it,” he panted, knuckling sweat from his forehead. “I hope.”

Keith leaned against the kitchen countertop with a glass of water. He held it out to Shiro. “Thanks for getting the heavy ones.”

Shiro laughed, drank. “You’re welcome.” He set the glass back down on the counter, circled it, took Keith’s waist in his arms. “Happy to help, in your fragile condition.” His palm lingered against Keith’s abdomen, a gentle press.

“I could still knock you out.” Keith leaned back on his elbows, smirking.

“Oh, I know.”

Shiro grinned and leaned closer, and Keith folded him in his arms, and his kiss was like a blue flame that licked at Shiro’s lips. His grip moved from Keith’s waist to his hips to his ass. Keith moaned expectantly into his mouth, a moan that broke into a satisfied giggle as Shiro hitched his arms under his ass and lifted him onto the countertop, bracketing his body between Keith’s thighs.

“Hey,” Shiro breathed, halting, “Is this gonna be weird, now?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “What, having sex with you?”

“Yeah. I mean, what if…”

“Shiro. It’s like, the size of a chia seed, and way further up than your dick can reach – no matter how big you are. You’re not gonna feel it in there, I promise.”

“It’s not that.” Shiro rubbed at his thighs. “I just don’t want to hurt you. Or… hurt the…”

“You know what’s hurting me right now? How horny I am.” Keith shifted his legs a little further apart, hooking his knees around Shiro’s waist. “And the sea monkey doesn’t even have nerve endings yet, so it’s not about to feel anything – trust me, I’m a nurse. Almost. Take your pants off.”

The thing about those early days was how easy it was, how good it was. Shiro’s jeans falling to his ankles, Keith’s fingers in his hair, Shiro’s powerful arms holding him close while he fucked him against the countertop, not even enough time or sense or care to take it to the bedroom. How wet Keith could get for him, cumming all over his dick, how Shiro could shake off so much of his tension and need for control and cum inside of him without a condom. The risk had already become reality, after all, so it wasn’t like precaution mattered at this point; this thing was unplanned, sure, but not a tragedy. Keith had feared – but expected, really – going it alone, but Shiro’s support had been a relief. A real happiness, actually. Shiro seemed even… excited. And it had been Keith getting excited, too, in more ways than one.  
“I love you,” Shiro told him as they showered together later. He had his face in Keith’s drenched hair.  
Keith kissed the place where his jaw and ear and neck met. “I love you,” he answered.

_____

They had a mutual friend, a handsome younger guy who worked as a paralegal in Shiro’s new office, which was always a dangerous thing.  
“Are you sleeping with him?” Keith had asked once, casually, when they were on the couch with a movie.

“No,” Shiro answered, cradling Keith’s legs in his lap, tracing slow circles over a knee. “Do you think I should?”

“Ass.” Keith laughed, kicked him playfully.

Lance was handsome, though, all friendly smiles and perfect glowing skin and practically a sixth sense for exactly what Shiro needed at work. He was the perfect legal assistant, cheeky but reasonable, and even when Shiro was on the cusp of losing his mind over his new responsibilities, Lance could talk him down. If anything, Keith was grateful to him for being Shiro’s center in a place where Keith couldn’t reach him, couldn’t make things better.

Even better was Lance’s ability to be a friend to both of them, even though he was well aware of their relationship – and all of its problems, which seemed to be coming out of the woodwork lately. Being a guy and being pregnant wasn’t really something they prepared someone for in school. Keith hadn’t started “showing” yet, so work was easy enough. With friends like Pidge, though, who knew the situation well, it was harder to balance.

“Fuck him,” Pidge said to Keith every time the couple were in a squabble. “He’s not the one who’s pregnant.”

Then Keith would feel guilty for being upset, and for telling anyone about it. He loved Shiro. He wanted things to be okay. They weren’t.  
Lance was different, sort of. Although he had every reason to be loyal to Shiro, Keith got the feeling he was a little more diplomatic than Pidge. Lance and Keith had their own friendship outside of Shiro and Lance’s job or friendship, which was nice. Lance knew Shiro. He could give Keith perspective. Show him that things weren’t all black and white.

“He’s stressed,” Lance said softly as he and Keith sat over dinner one night. The dim lighting of the restaurant couldn’t mask Keith’s tired face.  
“Me, too,” Keith said. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to work. I haven’t felt too good.”

“I’m sorry he’s been distant,” Lance sympathized. “That must be really difficult.”

“Mm.” Keith chewed slowly, swallowed. “Sorry if it’s TMI, but we haven’t had sex in three weeks. I’d say ‘distant’ is an understatement.”

Lance was on his second glass of wine, flushed. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Keith?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s definitely not you.” Lance set his glass down, looking at him squarely, and the intensity of it caught Keith off-guard. “You’re beautiful, okay? Like, are you aware of that? Even if you were huge and like, super pregnant, you’d still be beautiful.”

“Shut up.” Keith snorted with laughter.

“It’ll get better,” Lance reassured him. “You guys are just going through a dry spell. All couples go through that. It’s totally normal.”

Keith sighed, dabbing at a corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I just… I wish my mom was here. She’d know what to say.”

Lance nodded, his gaze apologetic. “Yeah. I know. I know it’s not the same, but I’m here.”

“Thank you.” Keith smiled. “I appreciate it. Really.”

_____

When it happened, it was the worst night of his life to date.

He and Shiro were fighting again. He couldn’t even remember now what it had been about. Something stupid, pointless. Not worth him yelling at Shiro over. And Shiro was infuriatingly patient, stoic, silent, sitting on the couch just taking everything in. Sad.

“Keith, you have to calm down,” Shiro had said. “Think of the baby, please.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Keith had snapped back. “Now you’re thinking of him? Because I think about him every second of the day, because he’s in my body, and I’m exhausted and sick and you don’t come home. What am I supposed to think you’re doing?”

“I’m doing this for us,” Shiro had returned. He’d met his eyes. “Keith, I love you. I don’t want to fight. I want to figure th–”  
He stopped cold, stared with widening eyes down at Keith’s thighs. Covered in blood.

“Keith…”

“What?”

And then he looked down and saw it, too.

_____

There were no words for it, however he tried to find them. Everything – every little detail of the daily goings-on of life, the conversations, going through the motions, getting out of bed, breathing – were swept over by a white tide of grief. It flowed and flowed and flowed and did not ebb. It flooded him, and the world lost its every color, and he even stopped being able to recall the crimson hue that once haunted him behind his eyes, the only lingering memory of the night. Even his tears seemed to dry for good; in his heart there was a dull, grey nothingness. He shook in the night, and for the most part was alone. Shiro slept on the couch, and not in the second bedroom though it was empty. That was a place neither of them set foot in, now. Not a word about it. The door was kept shut. Once he remembered Shiro wandering into the bedroom in the middle of the night, both of them crying, Shiro sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to hold his hand on top of the sheets. Beyond that one night, the only time they’d shown each other just the tip of the iceberg of that sunken grief, they didn’t speak for a month. Didn’t touch.

After two months, Keith had crept out of bed in the early hours of the morning. Something ached in him, deep inside, but sharp like an itch. It was so unfamiliar now that it took him an hour of lying in bed sweating and tossing until he could identify it.

Shiro was on the couch, still half awake. He looked up as Keith came closer in the dark, his bare skin catching the moonlight. Clean. Smooth. He smelled like a fresh-picked apple, like a summer afternoon. Shiro sighed deep as Keith straddled him, slowly. They watched each other closely, hesitant. Shiro sat up, heavily, holding him there. Keith tugged Shiro’s briefs down, letting out a sharp breath as the swollen length slid into his hands.

“Baby,” Shiro breathed.

It was all Keith needed to hear. He took hold of the pulsing head in his fingers and guided it inside of him, and Shiro groaned and leaned into him as Keith sank down onto him, warm and wet, up to the hilt.

The couch creaked underneath them as Keith rode him hard, desperately, his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, Shiro breathing heavily into his neck. It felt so fucking good. Shiro was so big, so thick, filling him, his teeth finding Keith’s nipple, pushing him further and further toward the edge…

“Stop,” Shiro hissed suddenly. “Keith, stop.”

Keith’s thighs stuttered, shook until they were still. He slid off of him, perched uncertainly on the edge of the couch cushion. When Shiro covered his face, Keith realized he was crying.

“Shiro,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” Shiro’s voice echoed softly behind his hands. “Keith, I can’t.”

Keith felt his own frustration welling up behind his eyes, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to release it. “Why won’t you fuck me anymore?” he whispered, brokenly. “Why won’t you… touch me?”

“I just can’t look at you anymore without… seeing it.”

Keith stared at the floor. He listened to Shiro’s ragged breaths, his sniffling, and felt nothing but that familiar grey.

That was the moment he knew it was over.


	2. Part Two

“I didn’t want you to find out from me,” Lance said softly, his gaze apologetic as he set down Keith’s coffee for him. They’d met at Lance’s apartment on rainy Saturday, some weeks after Keith had seen him last. He looked well as ever, and the firm had just given him a raise. His apartment was clean, kept neat, not like Pidge’s. Lance was nothing if not a loving member of a large extended family, and framed photos of them covered the kitchen walls.

“No, I understand,” Keith said with a dismissive wave. “I’m glad he told me himself. He seems happy.”

Lance sighed. “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s a little soon, if you ask me.”

“Well,” Keith deadpanned, “Like he told me – when you know, you know.”

“Ew,” Lance groaned.

“It’s okay. I thought that about him, too.” Keith leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, why didn’t he ask you to be his best man?”  
“Because…” Lance sighed through his nose, hesitant. “Because he knows I don’t really agree with it.”

“Agree with it?” Keith halted, looking at him, but Lance didn’t meet his gaze. “Why?”

“When he told me he was going to propose, I told him it was too soon. I said he should… put a little more thought into it, maybe not date for a while, work on himself.”

“Work on himself?” Keith snorted with laughter. “Bet that went over well. He’s pretty much got everything figured out, hasn’t he? Great high-paying job, beautiful apartment, beautiful fiancé… What does he have to work on?”

“Do you really think he’s over you?”

A moment of silence between them. It felt like Lance had just thrown a glass full of cold water in his face. Their eyes met, soberly, and Keith took a long breath.

“I just assumed he was, since he’s… y’know, marrying someone.”

“Why did you agree to be in the wedding?” Lance asked, point-blank.

“Because I want him to be happy.”

“But what about you?”

“Lance, I’m the one who left.” Keith stared down into the half-empty mug in front of him, the pool of black coffee shuddering slightly, rippling. “Maybe in another few months he would have been ready to work things out, but I wasn’t willing to wait on him. I’m happier alone than when I was constantly fifteen feet away from him and there might as well have been an ocean between us.” Keith paused, thinking of the night on the couch, hearing Shiro’s tears. “We can’t be together. I just remind him of the past.”

“Well, it should be a crime for him to ask you to do this,” Lance replied, defensively. “That’s all I’m gonna say about it. Sorry.”  
“You’re a good friend, Lance.” Something welled up in him, an unfamiliar urge. He put a hand on Lance’s shoulder, the gesture laced with trust, affection. “I can’t thank you enough for always being there for me.”

Lance met his gaze without shame, without shyness. “Of course.”

__________

They were going the traditional route, even though the timeline was more shotgun than churchyard.

There was no bachelor party – Shiro wasn’t into the idea, and he didn’t have the time for it with work picking up even more – but the rehearsal dinner two nights before the wedding was as lavish as the wedding itself was rumored to be.

The bride’s parents had rented out an entire five-star steakhouse just for the night, for the couple’s wedding party and extended family. The ceremony practice had gone smoothly enough, in the ballroom at the venue, and Keith had stood through it quietly, obediently. There was nothing really required of him other than to literally stand there, which was a relief. It wasn’t like he had to take Shiro’s arm and give him away.  
Lance was having difficulty hiding his displeasure, but he wasn’t being rude; on the contrary, he was the most polite and the most in-your-face friendly and hysterical when he was uncomfortable. So, naturally, tonight he was the life of the party.

“I’m so happy for you,” he crooned at Shiro, hanging on one of his shoulders. He was on his third mixed drink and God knew how drunk he was planning on getting.

Keith tugged him aside, if only to save Shiro from what Shiro had to know was fake praise. But if he knew, the groom didn’t show it. He was making his rounds from table to table, thanking everyone for coming to the rehearsal, and preemptively for coming to the official event tomorrow.

Shiro looked… devastatingly handsome. Freshly shaven, a sharp new haircut, a starched white button-down under a black vest and a silver tie. The tuft of gray-white hair at the crown of his head was slicked back, and his dark eyes glowed. He looked… happy. Smiling so easily. Excited.  
Dinner was fully underway when the ringing of a metal spoon against a wine glass chimed from the far window. The bride was standing up from her table, waving at everyone like a monarch, her dyed-silver hair streaming around her shoulders in shimmering waves.  
“Hello, everyone. If it’s not too much, I’d like to say a few words about… my future husband.”

It occurred to Keith that this was the first time he was hearing her voice. She had an accent that he couldn’t place, and bright blue eyes that pierced the room.

Everyone clapped, cheered her on. Lance lifted another drink to his lips.

“I met Takashi just a few short months ago,” she said, gazing down at him where he sat, looking up at her with the same starry-eyed expression. “And he’s been the light of my life ever since. A true gentleman, someone who brings light and love into every room. It was love at first sight, really.” She laughed, and the whole room seemed to melt. “Some of you don’t know this, but when things were becoming serious between us, I had one very personal, very deep fear: I wasn’t sure if he would want to marry someone like me, who is unable to have children due to an accident years ago. It’s something I’m open about with friends, but with him… I was so afraid.”

Keith’s blood ran cold. He propped an elbow on the table beside him, as if to stop himself from sliding to the floor. Lance shot him a pointed look, sidelong.

At the head table, Shiro reached out to take her hand and give it a light squeeze. A few of the guests sniffled. Keith felt a scream clawing at the inside of his lungs, and he bit it back until he could taste blood.

“But when I told him, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. He just looked at me and said, ‘Allura, I love you no matter what.’ And I knew, then, that everything would be okay. So tonight, while we’ve still got those pre-wedding jitters, I’d like to toast to the man who tomorrow will be my husband. I love you, Takashi.”

“Salud!” Someone yelled, and then everyone clapped. Smiles, laughter all around. Cheering, glasses raised, glaring lights. The glasses threw their reflections around and around.

“I need some air,” Keith said, almost to himself. Lance squeezed his arm, but let him go. Maybe because he was too drunk now to get up.  
Keith drifted into the entry hall, leaned back against the wall. He hadn’t smoked in years, but right now he could have chain smoked. His heart seemed to beat fast and slow at the same time. He stood like that with his eyes closed, just breathing, for what felt like a long time.

“Keith?”

Keith’s eyes shot open. He turned only his head, catching sight of Shiro’s polished figure gliding toward him.

“Hey,” Keith answered, forcing a smile for good measure. “Sorry, I haven’t drank in a while so I think it’s got me feeling a little weird.”  
Shiro looked almost… concerned. “Anything I can do?”

“It’s your rehearsal dinner, you big dope. You should be in there enjoying yourself.”

“I am.” Shiro leaned against the wall next to him, and Keith could hardly hide his surprise as Shiro leaned in close. Keith could feel just the slightest graze of exhaled breath against his cheek. “But I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“This means a lot to me.” Shiro’s eyes were glassy.

“I just want to see you happy.” Keith’s voice was a whisper. Their lips were close. Keith could feel the heat coming off him. He remembered, vividly, the hot damp press of skin to skin, the way they had moved together, the way they’d kissed, the way Shiro’s arm felt around him in the morning.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Shiro responded, softly. He lifted a thumb to Keith’s chin, tweaking it like he used to, and Keith flinched.

Shiro seemed to regret the gesture, something that still felt so natural but now could be so… wrong.

“Um, we should get back,” Keith said, patting his shoulder awkwardly. “This thing’s not over yet.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said softly, watching him walk away for a few strides before following slowly after him.

___________

As far as weddings go, it was really one of the most beautiful that Keith had seen. Outside in a rooftop garden above a penthouse of the hotel, string lights overhead, flowering trees, lattice gables laced with ivy. The officiate was kind and plain, the generic sort that suited both families and was strategically non-denominational. The ceremony went off without a hitch. The bride’s nephew brought the rings, and Shiro and Allura stood together under a white gable with hands clasped, reciting their vows. Keith stood next to Shiro with a blank smile, Lance behind him, then a few groomsmen from the law firm whom Keith didn’t know.

It was… quick. Over before Keith even realized it had passed. Shiro shot him a look, brief and warm, before Allura took his arm. They turned and strolled back down the white carpet aisle, Allura waving and smiling and tearful, and the gathering of guests much the same. Applause, shouts, laughter. It was a happy thing, Keith reminded himself. Be happy.

Keith and Lance filed out with the bridesmaid pairs, Keith attached to the arm of a pretty red-haired girl who actually could pull off one of those fluffy, bouncy, overstated bridesmaid dresses.

“Aw, you look like you’re gonna cry!” she crooned, dipping her head against his shoulder playfully. “It’s okay, you can cry.”

She meant it as a gesture of friendliness – surely she didn’t know – so Keith only smiled back at her.

“Oh, thank you. I might,” he said flatly.

________ 

The ballroom reception was yet another extravagance, with white chiffon overhangs, more string lights, flowers from wall to wall, tables in peerless white tablecloths with silver and navy accents and centerpieces of white lilies.

Keith sat for a while, watched Shiro and Allura have their first dance. It was slow and sweet, his palm at her waist and the other hand laced with hers, and she was smiling and kissing him. They looked so happy. Shiro didn’t glance at him once. In Keith’s fantasy, Shiro would look over her shoulder at him, stare deep into his eyes, maybe look apologetic. Maybe look anything except really happy and really in love. But then, that was selfish. Terrible. He wanted to punch himself in the face. Just be happy for him. You’re a horrible person. Just be happy.

“Hey,” Lance drawled, sinking into the chair beside him. “How’re you holding up?”

Keith leaned back against him. “Oh, just fine.”

He wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but Lance’s chest was warm against his back. It felt good. As if he wasn’t putting too much thought into it, either, Lance scratched at the back of Keith’s neck, ruffling the hair there.

“You wanna go get high?” Lance said into his ear, laughing.

Keith pondered it for no more than a heartbeat. “Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I do.”

_______

 

It wasn’t in poor taste to leave the reception a little early, was it? After all, Keith wasn’t the groom.

Lance had had the sense to get a room in the hotel for the night, knowing that he was most likely going to get drunk, and knowing it would be a late night regardless. Keith hadn’t thought as much; he thought he’d show up, do what he had to do, and then make some offhand excuse and go back to his apartment to eat junk and watch reruns and fall asleep on the couch.

This was better. Lance’s room was on a high enough floor to have a gorgeous view of dusk in Central Park, unobstructed. The curtains were flung wide open. Lance flicked on the dim orange lamp on the bedside table, then slid over to the safe under the desk, punching in the code he’d set.

“You’re keeping your weed in the hotel safe?” Keith laughed.

“Duh, that’s where you should keep your valuables.” Lance pulled a small plastic bag, a bowl, a lighter from the shelf in the safe. “When’s the last time you stayed in a hotel?”

“Forever.” Keith shrugged out of his vest and tugged his tie loose from his neck. He went to work on his button-down and then dropped his slacks, leaving only a white tank top and his briefs. He dropped onto the plush king mattress with a dull _fwump._

Lance glanced at him for a quiet second, then shed his own clothes. He was down to a white tank, too, and bright pink boxers. He climbed into the bed – on top of the sheets – next to Keith and lit up for them both.

“In her defense, she’s got great style,” Lance said, laughing into the ceiling.

Keith took a long hit, passed it back. “Very tasteful.”

“Can you fucking believe –” Lance was basically shouting – “that speech she made last night.”

Keith groaned. “I forgot.”

“Sorry.”

“I guess it’s probably good for him that way.” Keith frowned. “No risk of it happening to him again.”

They’d both been lying there awhile on their backs, smoking, studying the off-white stucco ceiling, when Lance turned his head to look at Keith.

“Hey.”

Keith turned to look back at him.

“If I were him,” Lance murmured, “I would have never let you walk out the fucking door. I would have held on for dear life.”

Keith laughed. “Yeah?”

“I’m serious.”

He was. Keith’s smile faded, and their eyes met again. Lance’s face was flushed with booze, his pupils stretched wide like two murky swimming pools from the high. His chestnut curls were in his face. Keith reached out to brush them away.

“I shouldn’t have expected him to hold on to me,” Keith whispered. “That’s the problem. I really thought he would. And now it’s too late to ask.”  
Lance’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “Sometimes… we don’t say the things we need to say because we think it’s better that way.” He swallowed, and Keith watched the apple in his throat bob. “And then we gotta live with whatever we don’t say.”

“That’s what I like about you,” Keith said, innocently. “You were honest with Shiro about how you felt, but you were still there for him. You always tell people what you need them to hear.”

“Not always,” Lance muttered. His gaze flickered across Keith’s face. “I mean, I’ve liked you from the time I first met you, but I thought for sure you and Shiro would be together forever.”

“You what?” Keith said faintly.

“I didn’t want to lose you as a friend, so… I didn’t want to say anything. Anyway, I want you to be happy, so I just thought he should rethink some of this shit, y’know? I hate… seeing you sad.”

“Lance,” Keith whispered.

He wasn’t sure what he’d planned to say. It didn’t end up mattering. Lance reached out to cup his face with a palm, hesitant, experimental, feather-light. His cool fingertips traced Keith’s jaw, trailed down the side of his neck. Keith shivered.

“Can I…”

“Yes.” Keith hooked his fingers into Lance’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Yes.”

They leaned close, locked lips. Keith let out a breath through his nose, almost relief, though it was soon replaced by a gnawing anxiety. He tried to push it down, pressing his body close to Lance’s, his arms around the younger man’s shoulders. Lance moaned breathily into his mouth, held him by the waist, grinding slowly against Keith’s thigh lodged between his own.

Keith let his eyes fall shut, tangling his fingers in Lance’s hair as they kissed, soaking in his warmth. He tried to remember the last time anyone had held him like this, had kissed him like this. It had been so long.

Lance rolled on top of him, cradling his face in his hands, his tongue caressing the inside of Keith’s mouth. Keith breathed shallow, relishing the familiar press of a body on his. He hadn’t felt like this since…

_“You’re so perfect.”_ The memory of Shiro’s lustful whisper was like velvet, like warm rosewater bathing his senses. _“Just like that. Don’t move… God, I love you.”_

Keith broke the kiss with a sharp breath, detaching himself from Lance. “I can’t do this,” he panted, sitting up and propping himself against a pillow. “Lance, I’m so sorry. I can’t.”

“It’s okay.” Lance seemed to come to his senses, hesitating for a moment, then sitting up, too. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay.” Keith rubbed his face. “Lance, I just… I just need you to be my friend. Is that okay?”

Lance let out a laugh, half relieved. “Yeah, of course. Of course.”

Keith wrapped him in a hug, briefly, then climbed under the bedspread. “Hey, put something shitty on? Let’s just chill.”

They did. Lance draped an arm around his shoulders, friendly, caring, and Keith fell asleep against his ribs.

___________ 

 

The new bride was off to Los Angeles for the next three weeks, and Shiro had taken it upon himself to redo the apartment before she moved in so that it would be in top shape. The leak in the bathroom faucet needed fixed. The hardwood floors needed polished. The living room walls needed painted, especially. That was where Keith came in.

He’d agreed to help Shiro paint – offered, in fact, without even having been asked – mostly out of his newfound masochistic desire to be around Shiro post-wedding. Shiro had, in fact, noticed that Keith had dipped out early, along with Lance. He asked, a little too casually, whether anything had happened.

“No,” Keith had answered. There had been silence, still, on the other end of the phone line. “And even if something had happened, why do you care?” He had to think on his toes to warp it into a joke. “You had your chance with Lance.” They’d both laughed, hollowly.

Now Keith was here, in Shiro’s new apartment that for some reason needed further renovation, and Shiro was sweating in a tank top and brandishing a paint roller at him. “You know you can tell me, if you and Lance hooked up. It won’t affect his job.”

Keith snorted, turning away from him to roller the opposite wall. “If I just say he fucked me, will you let it go?”

“No, not if it’s a lie.”

“Well, it would be a lie, because he didn’t fuck me.”

“Okay.”

Keith couldn’t help but crack a half-smile, hidden with his back to Shiro. What the hell was this? He was getting hysterical over it. Was Shiro actually… jealous? He was just married, for fuck’s sake.

“So… this is a nice color.” Keith waved the paint roller a bit for emphasis. A deep brown with golden undertones.

“I hate it,” Shiro responded.

“Oh. So this is a marital compromise, huh?” He glanced at Shiro’s face, sidelong.

“There were a lot of those the first week of our marriage.”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know, the whole time we were dating, she had no complaints about this place. Now she wants everything changed. I’ve got three weeks to get it all done.”

“Well, after today you’ll have one less job.” Keith shot him a warm smile, turned back to the wall.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” Keith didn’t turn, but he listened.

“Remember how fun this was the first time?”

Keith halted, the roller still in his hand, his heart stuttering. He swallowed, went back to rolling. He remembered it, definitely: Shiro with his shirt off in the summer heat of their crappy place with no air conditioning, trying to paint light green stripes on the wall of the baby’s room, failing, cursing, laughing as Keith held him. He remembered Shiro swiping at his cheek with a thumb, smearing it with paint, chasing him around the room with a roller. Smacking his ass with a hand covered in acrylic. He still had those jeans in the bottom of a drawer somewhere, one big handprint on the back pocket.

“Turd,” Keith laughed. “It was everywhere. I was still finding it on me like two days later.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said, casually. “It would be a shame if…”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, but I just can’t help it…”

“Don’t even…”

Shiro had been rolling his flat palm and fingers with paint, and when Keith turned to confront him, he was already moving across the room with a goofy grin splitting his sharp features.

Keith laughed, screamed, leapt out of the way and jumped clean over a coffee table covered in tarp. Shiro trailed him, clearing the table and circling him around the room.

“Stop!” Keith gasped, doubled over in laughter. “I swear to fucking God.”

“Fight me,” Shiro said. He lunged a few times, and Keith started like a spooked horse, ready to vault over the nearest tarped chair if he had to.  
“You are not giving me another pair of jeans like that.”

“Aw, c’mon, I won’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“C’monnnn,” Shiro drawled, grinning.

Keith tried to sneak around him, but Shiro took a shortcut leap over a floor tarp and caught him hard in his arms, almost knocking the wind out of him – whatever wind was left in him from laughing so much, harder than he had in a long time.

Shiro pressed a muddy brown hand in the center of Keith’s chest, staining his already stained t-shirt with a handprint over his thudding heart.  
Even when their laughter quieted, they stayed like that. Shiro had an arm around him, leaning into him, his face hovering over Keith’s. Keith had an arm around his waist, no longer struggling against his grip. Shiro bowed his head, let his lips rest against Keith’s temple.

“Keith,” he said softly. “I miss you.”

It ached. Keith had to close his eyes and remind himself this was just Shiro being… whatever he was being. It didn’t mean anything. He was stressed, he was strung out, he wasn’t thinking straight.

Keith pulled away. “We should finish this up and get some lunch, yeah? I think the fumes are starting to get to you. Want me to open a window? It’s a little cold, though.”

“Keith.”

Keith stopped, stared. Shiro looked sullen.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I really do,” Shiro said softly. “I miss you. I’ve really missed you.”

“I…” Keith stuttered. “Shiro, we shouldn’t be…”

“I know I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry.”

“Shiro, stop.”

“I didn’t blame you. I don’t blame you, I never have. I… I felt so lost, I was broken inside. I wanted… I wanted that so badly, with you. I wanted us to be family. I really did.”

Something was surging in Keith’s chest, straight from his heart, shooting to the ends of his fingers. His eyes were like overloaded dams, and the unmistakable pressure of tears pressed at the back of them, but he wouldn’t cry. He would not. He refused to.

“You don’t have to say any of this,” Keith said flatly. “And, really, even if I knew it already, it’s way too late for that. Listen, I…” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He’d thought maybe he could shrug this off, dissolve it, let it lie. But now it was bubbling up from somewhere deep. “I wanted that with you, too. But if we can’t stick it out when the shit hits the fan, what good are we? I wanted to talk about it. I wanted to work it out, to get through what we were feeling. Why wouldn’t you just…. Why wouldn’t you just talk to me?”

As if by some kind of magic, a single hot tear of frustration leaked from the outside corner of Keith’s eye, and he blinked it away in surprise.  
“I didn’t know what to do,” Shiro said, his deep voice hoarse with emotion. “I just kept thinking of the pain, thinking it was my fault. That I’m the one who put you through it.”

“What are you talking about?” Keith sniffed.

“It was the camping trip,” Shiro responded, sinking into a chair with the tarp still on it. It crinkled under him. “That was it, wasn’t it? That’s when it happened. We didn’t bring any condoms, we thought we’d never get a minute in private with everyone else around. But then everybody wanted to go on that kayaking trip and you didn’t want to, so we stayed behind and we…”

Keith would have laughed, if he weren’t crying. He remembered it vividly, the late summer camping trip with the mosquitoes and the late dusks and their friends laughing around a warm blaze, Lance eating everyone’s burnt marshmallows. The day they all went out on the river, and Keith and Shiro zipped themselves into the cool stillness of their tent and shed their clothes and made love in the sticky afternoon to the melody of locusts.

“That was it,” Keith affirmed, nodding slowly. “I think so, too.”

“It was… really great,” Shiro remarked. “You were amazing. I don’t even think you took your socks off.”

“I didn’t.”

“You were so sexy.”

“Thank you.”

“You still are.”

Keith looked up, and two sets of sad eyes locked on to each other in aimless desperation. Shiro was crying now, too.  
“I wanted it so badly, Keith. I wanted that life with you.”

“I know.” Keith moved to squeeze into the chair with him, folding his big shoulders in his arms. Shiro returned the embrace, his face in Keith’s neck.

“I thought you’d hate me if I told you I wanted to try it again,” Shiro said softly. “I mean, all of it. The relationship, even having a child.”

“I don’t hate you.” Delirious with love, Keith planted a heavy kiss on Shiro’s forehead. Then another, then another. “I could never hate you.”  
“Keith…”

He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten to the floor, now, but he’d stopped caring. Shiro was on top of him, showering him with kisses – forehead, cheeks, lips, chin, throat. He clung to those bulky shoulders, the thick neck, scratching at the shaved hair at the back, leaning deep into the kiss he remembered from so long ago.

Shiro tugged at the hem of Keith’s shirt, pushed it up over his belly, over his chest, over his head and off. His lips met his hands over Keith’s chest, sucking little welts over his pale flesh, bruising his neck, all while Keith let out soft sounds of pleasure at every touch. He tangled his fingers in Shiro’s silvery forelock, holding him there, plunging a tongue into his mouth.

Their hips collided in the stiff fabric of their jeans; Shiro grunted and unbuttoned Keith, yanking the zipper down and dragging them down Keith’s thighs roughly. Already panting with anticipation, Keith writhed against the hard floor, the wood against his shoulder blades, Shiro’s hands all over his body. Fingers and palms and thumbs massaging and pinching and rubbing in all those amazing places.

“I want to fuck you,” Shiro murmured, running a hand over the growing hardness in his jeans.

Keith stared up at him wantonly, eyes hazy with desire. “Fuck me,” he breathed. “Give it to me.”

Shiro stripped his pants to his knees and crawled closer, settling between Keith’s thighs, hitching them around his waist. One hand fell between them to rub a hot thumb over Keith’s swollen clit, and in response Keith’s back arched skyward with gasp. It turned into a breathy moan when two fingertips dipped into the slick furrow.

“I want you,” Shiro said huskily, pushing in further, scissoring his fingers slowly inside.

“C’mere,” Keith panted. “Please.”

“I can put a condom on,” Shiro offered softly.

“No.” Keith dug his heels into the tense muscles at Shiro’s back. “You can come inside. It’s okay. Come here.”

The first press of Shiro’s dick into him felt like fire. Pain shot up his abdomen from groin to ribs, his inner walls clenching hard around the intrusion. Shiro groaned at the pressure.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Hold on.” Shiro pulled out of him, enveloping him in tight arms and lifting him as he stood up from the floor. “I’m taking you to bed.”  
Keith smiled through his tears. “Thank you.”

On the bed, Shiro laid him out like he weighed nothing; spread him wide, free, burying his mouth in the soaked folds of flesh. Keith moaned aloud without restraint, arms thrown above his head, splayed languidly under Shiro’s tongue.

“Don’t make me come yet,” Keith choked out.

Shiro took the cue and moved up his body, trailing his tongue from Keith’s clit to his navel to his neck. He positioned himself once more, Keith trembling and ready below him, dripping all over the sheets. Shiro took hold of himself in one hand, guiding the swollen head of his cock to the slicked entrance.

This time, the only sound Keith made was one of pure pleasure. Shiro was careful, slow, poking just the smooth head in and out of the fluttering hole, precum dribbling out of his slit and running down Keith’s edges. When Shiro finally eased in to the hilt, Keith was a gasping, crying mess, clinging to him, unable to get his breath.

Shiro didn’t have to move inside him for long. They both came, hips stuttering, Shiro clutching Keith’s ass hard, buried deep inside him. They rode each other out, Shiro spilling into him, warm little rivers of cum running down Shiro’s shaft.

Shiro let his head fall heavily into the crook of Keith’s shoulder, breathing heavy, their chests heaving and hearts pounding against each other. They were silent for a long time, their breathing slowing gradually, the sweat drying on their skin. Keith combed his fingers through Shiro’s hair, rubbed his shoulders lazily.

“So,” Keith murmured, still basking in the warmth of the afterglow, “what now?”


	3. Part Three

It was 3:34 a.m. and Keith was wide awake, sweating in his bright green scrubs, stuffing his fresh-washed hands into latex gloves. The surgeon on call had rushed in to perform an emergency appendectomy on a seven-year-old patient who’d been complaining of abdominal pain since he woke around midnight and cried out for his parents. It was his first time in the hospital; no extenuating health problems. No history of heart murmur or failure. Keith was briefing the surgeon as they rolled the young boy’s gurney down the hall away from his distraught parents.

“It’s ruptured,” Keith said steadily as they entered the operating room and set the gurney in place next to the surgical table. Another one of the nurses helped lift the boy to it, and the gurney was rolled away. Keith set about clasping the tubes and valves for an IV. This time, while the surgeon was pulling on gloves and his tools were being laid out, Keith was talking softly to the young patient, who still had warm tears streaking his face. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? I’m going to get an IV in, it’s a little needle that goes on the top of your hand.”

He rolled the hanging IV bag closer, took hold of the little hand with its knuckles white with fear. “Make a fist, okay?” Keith rubbed disinfectant across the patch of blue-veined skin. The boy complied, silently, the little fist squeezing around itself. “Just a little pinch. Here we go.” He stuck a thick vein with the needle, taped it in place. The boy flinched but stayed silent. Keith eyed the IV drip. “Awesome! You’re doing great. Let’s get your oxygen going – it won’t hurt, okay?’

The boy nodded sullenly. Keith fixed the soft plastic mask over the child’s face, configured the machine beside him. The surgeon was ready and nodded to Keith. "Six liters per minute,” the surgeon instructed, and Keith nodded and complied. The pain medication and anesthesia in the IV was beginning to take hold; the boy looked closer to sleep, more at peace. Keith gave his narrow shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

____________

The surgery was a success; at least appendicitis was usually an easy thing to fix, when you caught it early enough. Keith was there when the boy woke from surgery, squeezing his hand with comforting words. The boy squeezed back. His parents were admitted into the recovery room, and the father shook Keith’s hand firmly, misty-eyed behind thick-framed glasses.

“Thank you, thank you so much. He doesn’t usually like strangers, I think he’s taken to you.”

Keith smiled, returned the viselike handshake with a bashful laugh. “No, don’t thank me – Dr. Tethary is a skilled surgeon.”

“Oh, we know, but nurses work the hardest for less pay,” the mother said from her son’s bedside. “And the nurses here are always so much nicer! Thank you, again, really.”

“He’ll be back to his usual self in no time,” Keith reassured them with a warm smile. He tossed a gentle “Feel better soon!” at the half-asleep patient and excused himself.

________

At 7:00am, when his twelve-hour shift finally ended, Keith took the personal liberty of crying in the staff restroom.

Normally, he was great at keeping his personal life out of work. It usually wasn’t hard to do in an environment like this, with everything always so fast-paced, procedure to procedure, going and going and going from start to finish. Keith loved being a nurse – it was what he’d wanted to do for years beforehand, especially after he’d lost his mother. But nights like this… these things were the hardest. Children in pain. Only a truly heartless person wouldn’t flinch at the suffering Keith had witnessed over these first couple of years as a full-fledged RN.

Since the he’d lost the baby, _their_ baby, it was especially different.

Keith braced himself against the tiled wall of the very last stall in the row, the bathroom mercifully empty as he sobbed into the front of his shirt. Why am I like this? he found himself thinking. Nothing bad had even happened. The kid was fine. He was fine! What was it about this child’s tears that had gotten to him so much? Maybe it wasn’t the child himself, not just him, but his parents, too. Their stricken faces when in Keith’s eyes it was a rather routine surgery with little risk. But it was clear they loved him too much not to lose their shit over every little thing. That was the kind of parent Keith knew he would probably end up being, and he had to acknowledge it. Not to mention if he’d been a proper parent in the first place, he’d have never lost the…

His phone rang suddenly from inside his scrubs pocket. Hurriedly wiping his eyes and nose with his sleeves, Keith fished it from his pocket.  
“Katie?” he choked, trying desperately just to sound normal.

“Keith? Shit, are you okay?”

Shit was right.

“I’m good,” Keith responded, unconvincingly. “Are you?”

“I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab breakfast on your way home, before I go in. I’m sorry, did you have a rough night?” Her voice radiated concern. “Do you want me to take a sick day? Where are you?”

“No, no, please.” Keith waved dismissively like she could see it. “Don’t give up your hours, I know you’ve been trying to get more. I can meet you, just have to get changed.”

“Hey,” she said gently, “whatever it is, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna give you a really big hug and you can tell me all about it. Okay? See you.”

______________

“You slept together?” Lance’s strained whisper was sharp with shock. “I mean, again? Now? Like, currently?”

“Christ, Lance, just announce it to the whole office, would you?” Shiro shoved his miserable face into a mug of coffee, and Lance yanked Shiro’s office door shut.

“Don’t worry, we’re the only ones here.”

“I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“Shiro.” Lance dropped into the chair on the other side of Shiro’s massive oak desk. “You’re married.”

Shiro set down his mug and said flatly, “Oh. Thank you, Lance. I forgot.”

“Well, yeah, clearly! Let me guess, he came onto you and it was _all_ him, right? Because you’re obviously not ready to admi-”

“No, not at all. I went down on him.”

Lance sat rigid for a beat. “Oh my god, so it’s worse than I thought.”

“I thought all this time you’ve known us, you wanted us to get back together?” Shiro demanded sullenly.

“Yeah, I _did_ want you guys to work things out and be together, before you went and got fucking _married!”_ Lance slapped his own forehead. “Jesus Christ…”

“Lance… Did you and Keith sleep together at my wedding?”

Lance glared across the desk at him, warily. “Excuse me?”

“I just want the truth, Lance.”

“Well you’re not fucking entitled to the truth! You lying, cheating…”

Shiro looked deflated. Sad. Lance halted, nearly panting from the emotional effort.

“Lance, Allura and I don’t have sex. We never have.”

“Wh…what?” Lance blinked.

“She told me she wanted to wait until we were married. I respect her, and I agreed to it. But…” He rested his elbows heavily on the desktop, his face in his hands. “On our wedding night she told me she couldn’t do it. She didn’t explain why. I didn’t push it. We still haven’t had sex even once. I’ve never even seen her naked. Don’t you think that’s… a little unnatural, for a husband and wife?”

“You can’t just cheat on your wife because she won’t have sex with you,” Lance countered, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “And yeah, maybe… maybe I am a little biased here. Because it’s Keith, and I know Keith, and he’s my friend too. And he doesn’t deserve to get played for years by someone who can’t decide what they want.”

Shiro looked up in surprise as Lance stood up from the chair, leaving his stuffed document binder on Shiro’s desk. “I think I need to take a sick day and get my emotions in check. You can fire me if you want, but you and I aren’t friends anymore. I’m your assistant, and that’s all, and I’ll do my job right no matter what I think of you. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” Shiro nodded, slowly, looking anywhere but Lance’s face. “I’ll email you when I get the deposition dates. Work stuff only.”

“Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lance approached the door but stopped when his hand hit the door handle. “And by the way,” he added, “if you want the truth, I’ll only say this once and then I’ll leave it. The truth is, Shiro, you were an insufferable, insensitive fuckwit asking Keith to stand up there with you when you’ve known this whole time that he still loves you. When your new wife doesn’t even know that Keith is your ex. Be a little more tactful the next time you want to screw someone over emotionally just to protect your image.” He sighed, noted Shiro’s silence, and added, “And if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t have sex with Keith. He was upset and I asked to kiss him, and I shouldn’t have done that. I took advantage of his pain, so we have that in common. I think we should both leave him alone, so he can find someone who’s going to love him like he deserves.”

And with Shiro still speechless behind him, he left without a backward glance.

_________

Katie followed through on her promise, pulling Keith down into a corner sofa in the coffee shop near her work and holding him tightly. He willed himself not to cry again. It was working, for now.

“Wow, sweetie, this is a tough thing.” Her palms rubbed in firm, nurturing circles over his back. “I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”  
Normally, she’d call Shiro an asshole and blame him for everything, because Keith was her primary concern. Shiro was just a friend of her brother Matt’s, but Keith was like a second brother. This, though, hadn’t been just Shiro’s choice. By the sound of it, even something as consensual and affectionate as that could be a devastating regret later. And what hurt Keith hurt Katie, too.

“This is all my fault,” Keith murmured into her shoulder. “Lance won’t answer my texts, he won’t call me back. He probably knows by now what I did. Things have been weird since the wedding. I don’t know. I guess… I guess he thinks I’m an awful person. I wouldn’t blame him for thinking that about me.”

“He doesn’t think that,” Katie countered, but it was more from wanting desperately to offer support than really knowing it for sure.

“I love him.” A single hot tear rolled down his cheek and soaked her uniform jacket.

Katie held him at arm’s length, studied his face. “Who, Lance?”

“No.” Keith’s voice shook. “Shiro. I love Shiro. I love him so much sometimes I can barely breathe. Even after everything, after all this time… I mean, he’s fucking married now. But now that he said these things to me I can’t get them out of my head.” His misty eyes pleaded with her for answers. “Why didn’t he tell me this before? Why? I don’t understand.”

“Because men are fucking stupid.” Katie thumbed a tear from his cheek. “Sorry. Present company excluded.”

“I know I should just drop it. I shouldn’t see him again. But I…”

“Keith, go easy on yourself. You guys have been in each other’s lives for a long time, there’s a lot of history there. You can’t expect to just cut ties so easily.”

“But… now I can’t,” Keith muttered. “I mean, I might not be able to, like ever.”

“What?” Katie’s brow knitted in concern, and she rubbed at his shoulder. “What do you mean? Why?”

“Because I..” Keith dropped his gaze to the floor, his palm instinctively pressed to his abdomen, his face pale. “I think I’ve got something to tell him.”


	4. Part Four

It was difficult to admit, even to himself, that their relationship now brought him feelings of shame.

Shiro still wore his wedding ring. It was to keep up appearances, Shiro had insisted when Keith had brought up how much it hurt. The justification made sense – Shiro wanted to tell Allura in person that the marriage wasn’t going to work, and only a few days remained before her return from LA. Shiro had never wanted to hurt her, or snub her, or make it a public embarrassment. So he wore it diligently at work, only removing it in the privacy of the apartment.

It was on his finger now even as he drew Keith close to him, kissing at the side of his neck, and Keith folded him tight between his thighs as he came with a low groan. Shiro held him like that for a long moment; he kissed the side of Keith’s face, held the other side in a warm palm.  
He could tell Keith hadn’t finished. It was strange, being able to read him like that even after so much time apart. It would have been silly to fake it, Keith knew.

“Are you okay?” Shiro murmured. It was close to his ear, and Keith shuddered through an unexpected wave of emotion. He’d begun to notice the soreness of his ass against the hard surface of the desk.

“I don’t know,” Keith admitted.

Shiro pulled away, peeled off the condom, tucked his cock back into his underwear and zipped his pants. “Let’s go to dinner,” he suggested, reaching out a hand to help Keith down from the desk. “We can talk about whatever you want.”

Keith sighed, dragging his sweatpants back up to his waist. “I’m not really dressed for a nice dinner out, Takashi.”

“We could get takeout.”

“And take it back to your place, right?” Keith bent to shove his foot into a boot. “And then after we eat, we’ll have a fight, and instead of talking through it, we’ll have sex again, and then we’ll fall asleep. Then the next day we’ll get up and it’ll start all over again.” Shiro stood frozen, his long black coat over one arm, his other hand holding Keith’s jacket out for him. Keith looked up, catching sight of his ashen face, and sighed again. He took his coat, gently. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”  
“I don’t want to fight,” Shiro said softly.

“Well, that’s the problem.” Keith dipped his arms into his coat. “I think we should, and I think for once we should finish it. Is that okay?”

________________________

 

They sat across from each other at Shiro’s kitchen table over white paper boxes of lo mein and rice. Keith twirled his fork, made a whirlpool of noodles. His gaze was sharp, hesitant, but not hard.

“Please finish this with me. Don’t walk away.”

Shiro knew he wasn’t talking about the noodles. He nodded. “I’m right here.”

“So… you know that I was scared I might be pregnant again.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not. I got a blood test this morning.” He chews, swallows. “Just my period being finnicky. Inconsistent hormones.”

Shiro meditates on the words for a beat. He wants to say, You don’t sound relieved, but he’s learned to cut it out with the assumptions. “How do you feel about it?”

Keith looks surprised, but there’s only a brief flash of it in his eyes. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I was kind of… hoping I was. I want a child.”

“I know.”

“But it was still selfish. I want our child. How is that fair? We’re not even on solid ground.”  
“We are,” Shiro asserted. “I’m here, Keith. I told you.”

“You’re married,” Keith deadpanned. “To someone who isn’t me.”

“I remember.”

“Fucking someone else’s husband is hardly what I’d consider solid.”

“This is the part where we fight, I guess?” Shiro sipped gloomily at a glass of red wine.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll start. I love you.” Shiro set the glass down and looked at him. Really looked at him. He studied his liquid violet eyes, the pretty bridge of his nose, his high cheekbones sharp and flushed. He was as beautiful as the day they’d met, Keith’s first day of freshman year in undergrad. As beautiful as the first time they’d kissed, the first night they’d fucked, the first time Keith had said I love you when they were lying out under the stars after midnight on the empty baseball field. It was two weeks before Shiro’s college graduation, and it had changed his life forever. Keith had been the first one to say it then. Shiro wanted to be the first to say it now.

Keith took a deep breath, looking back at him. “I love you, too, Takashi. But don’t you see why it could be hard for me to trust you?”

It cut him like a blade between the ribs. Shiro steadied himself. “I understand how you feel. But you left me, remember?”

“You didn’t touch me for two months,” Keith shot back, his voice quavering. “And even before… before it happened, you hardly touched me for weeks.”

“I was scared!” It was the first time Shiro had raised his voice. He got up from the table like he was going to storm out of the room; he checked himself, sucked in a deep breath, sat back down. “I was scared, Keith. It was my first child. Our first child.”

“But I was the one carrying him,” Keith shot back. “Why would you be so scared? It’s not like every little thing you said and did were going to affect the pregnancy, but me…” Keith was trembling visibly. Shiro wished in that moment that he could reach out and take his hand, but he didn’t. “I knew if anything bad happened, it would be my fault. Singularly my fault. Because it was my body, and I was responsible.”

“You didn’t consider my feelings at all!” Shiro protested. “I’m not allowed to be worried about my baby because you were the one carrying him? What kind of logic is that?”

“Just admit that you blame me.” A single hot tear rolled down Keith’s cheek as they locked eyes. “If you just admit it, then I can forget about this.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Shiro insisted. “I didn’t want to forget back then, either. I wanted – I needed – to have my time of grief. And you wouldn’t let me grieve because you thought I didn’t deserve to. And that’s not fair. Like it should have hurt less for me because it was all your fault, right? Well, I won’t say that. I won’t, Keith. Because I don’t blame you, I never blamed you. You blame yourself.”

Keith was weeping openly, now. He shook with silent sobs that rocked his slender body. He had his arms crossed tight over his chest like a little bird with broken wings. He’d remained strong for so long, and this was his breaking point.

“You said you couldn’t even look at me.” It was barely a whimper, choked with tears. “Why did you say that?”  
“You were hurting. I can’t stand that.” Shiro finally sat back down in the chair next to his, reached out to take one of his hands. Keith didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry. I was devastated, I shut down, I needed help. I didn’t know how to reach out. I’m sorry. I never wanted to drive you away.”

“No. You’re right.” Keith swiped at his damp eyelashes with the back of a hand. “I didn’t consider your feelings. I just wanted to go on like nothing happened. I felt so ashamed.”

His hand warmed slowly in Shiro’s gentle grip. Shiro rubbed the knuckles with his thumb, pulled it into both hands to hold it.

“I thought… if I really loved you, I should let you go.” Shiro squeezed his hand. “But I was wrong. Really wrong. I realize that now, and it was the greatest mistake of my life to let you leave that apartment without a fight. I should have fought for you.”

They searched each other’s gazes, both misty. Keith’s lip trembled again, releasing a fresh tear from the corner of his eye.

“Takashi…”

“If you’ll have me, I’m here. I’ve really screwed up a lot of things, but… this is one thing I’m absolutely sure of. I want to be with you, Keith.”

“I love you,” Keith breathed, leaning close, detaching his hand from Shiro’s grip so that he could cradle his face in his hands and kiss him. It was hot, electric.

“I love you, baby.” Shiro kissed his forehead, his cheek, his neck. “Did we fight enough for now?”  
Keith let a little smile break across his teary features. “Yeah. For now.”

“Then will you let me make love to you?”

The husky whisper sent a lightning bolt of desire straight down to the floor of Keith’s belly. He hated to admit it, but the raw emotion they’d drummed up between them, the rush of excitement and desperation, the feeling wasn’t unlike the raw pleasure of being in bed with Shiro.

“Yes,” Keith whispered as Shiro’s mouth moved down his neck. “Yes, I will.”

_______________________________

Shiro licked him open like his cunt was a dish of ice cream, tongue swirling around the tip of his clit, tracing heavy circles around the fluttering opening. He hummed low in his throat with every lock of his lips onto swollen labia, gently prying up the hood of Keith’s clit with his fingers so the eager pink nub could disappear into his mouth.

“Takashi,” Keith moaned, quickening the subtle grind of his hips against Shiro’s face. His slick coated the older man’s chin and dripped on the sheets below with saliva. “Don’t stop. Please, please, don’t stop...”

Shiro was vigilant. Tonight was for Keith. Tonight he would do whatever his lover wanted. He buried his face in Keith’s soaked furrow, licking, sucking, kissing, his own cock leaking and rutting against the bedspread as his hips rocked rhythmically on instinct against the bed. He wanted to fuck him, and hard, but he was patient. They had all night. There was time to indulge each other.

At least, that was their thought.

Keith came, shuddering, a whimpering mess, splashing Shiro’s mouth with cum. Diligently, Shiro craned his neck to lick it all up, holding Keith’s thighs against his shoulders tightly as Keith’s body relented to spasms of pleasure. Keith dug eager fingernails into the hard muscle of his back, urging him upward to pull him into a deep, wet kiss; Keith reveled in the taste of himself there. 

“Fuck me,” Keith gasped, still panting, hyper-aware of Shiro’s heavy velvet erection lying against his thigh.

Before Shiro could respond, his phone lit up on the nightstand, buzzing, letting out an enthusiastic chirp. 

Shiro grunted, made to ignore it, taking his own length in his grip and lining it up with Keith’s drenched hole. 

“You should pick up,” Keith advised, softly.

“Why?”

“What if it’s work?”

“I’m not at work right now.”

The phone went quiet, and Keith smiled up at him, guiding him down into more kisses. He moaned softly at the press of cock head against his cunt.

The phone rang again. Shiro growled in annoyance, let his cock slip free. “Christ. What’s the big emergency?”

He leaned out of the bed, squinting into the brightness of the screen.

“Lance?”

Keith lay relaxed, that warm post-orgasm softness letting his whole body go limp and pliant. He folded an arm behind his head and watched Shiro’s expression go from irritated and flushed to pale and drawn.

“Who let her in?” Shiro demanded.

Keith flashed him questioning glances, but Shiro continued. “Where is she now? Don’t tell me she’s on here way here... Well, that buys me some time. Yes. I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Lance. I guess you’re right... Yes. Thank you. Okay, goodnight.”  
“What’s going on?” Keith asked as soon as the phone was back on the bedside table.

“She got an earlier flight back here to surprise me.” Shiro’s voice was glum. “She went to the office because she thought I was working late.”  
“I should go,” Keith said hurriedly.

“She found the condom.” 

Keith froze, the comforter clutched in his fingers. “From...”

“Yeah.” Shiro rubbed his face. “She doesn’t know that I know. She called Lance and then went to a hotel near the office. Lance thinks it’s best that I act like I don’t know she’s here.”

Keith took in a trembling breath. “I should go,” he repeated.

“She doesn’t know it’s you.” Shiro glanced at him sidelong, forlorn. “So at least there’s that. I don’t want you mixed up in this.”

“I’m already mixed up in this,” Keith shot back, a little too sharply.

“She doesn’t even know we used to date,” Shiro added, defensively, as if he were bolstering his case.

Keith halted, stared at him. “What?”

“She thinks you’re just my best friend from college.” Shiro shrugged. “She won’t suspect you. I mean, that’s good, right?”

“Your wife... doesn’t know... about us?” Keith struggled for breath, struggled for words. “All that time you were getting to know each other... I was the fucking best man at your wedding... and she has no idea we almost had a kid together?”

“Keith, I...”

“Don’t. Please, just don’t.” Keith dragged himself from the bed, looking around hurriedly for his clothes, holding back tears. “I’m not going to be your dirty little secret anymore. I can’t do this.” He stepped into his discarded sweatpants, tugged them up.

“Keith, please don’t go.”

Keith met his gaze. “Why? Give me one good reason.”

“I love you.” Shiro’s eyes were misty.

Keith stared back at him for a beat, then snatched up his sweater and coat. “Prove it,” he said, and stormed out of the luxury apartment in renewed tears.


	5. Part Five

Keith had gone home from Shiro’s apartment a wreck, crying on the subway, pitiful to an embarrassing degree as other commuters stared and his phone pinged periodically with text messages from the last person he wanted to hear from in that moment, but also the first. And he hated it.

Takashi Shirogane [9:02pm]: Please come back.  
Takashi Shirogane [9:10pm]: Where are you? Just tell me you’re safe.  
Takashi Shirogane [9:45pm]: Keith, call me please.  
Takashi Shirogane [9:59pm]: I’m so sorry.

Keith watched as each one flashed across his phone screen, and with each one he found his pain renewed, a twisting knife in his chest that pounded like a hammer when Shiro finally called him. He was climbing the steps to his apartment on the third floor, sniffling, brushing back his matted hair from his face.

“What?” he answered, as if they hadn’t missed a beat.

Can you just tell me if you’re safe?” It was gentle. It made Keith want to scream at him.

“I’m safe,” Keith answered tersely. He rattled his keys in his apartment door. “Now will you leave me alone?”

“No.”

Keith swallowed his breath and shoved his door closed. “No?”

“I’m not leaving you. I’m here. I’ll be here when you want to talk.”

“Fine.” Keith yanked the phone from his ear, poised a violent finger to hang up the call.

“I love you.”

Keith stopped dead, stared at the phone. That bastard. What a cheap shot. How dare he.... How...

“I love you more,” Keith yelled. 

Nakedly honest, brash, angry, in love. And then he hung up.

_________________

It was October of his freshman year, and he’d just been minding his own business, sitting out under the trees in the unseasonable warmth, sketching the broad shoulders of a certain someone he saw sitting across the courtyard talking with his friends…

His stupid, loud friends and his stupid backwards hat and irritating big bulky muscles and the hard block of his jaw…

“Hey, Shiro, look.”

One of them had crept up on Keith, gesturing at his sketchpad. Laughing. “He’s drawing you, dude, look.”

Keith shut his sketchbook, hurriedly stuffing it into his bag, his face burning.

The other dumbasses laughed, jogged over, and Keith wished he could die right there. Sink into the ground unseen for the rest of forever.

But the one he’d been drawing, the one called Shiro, he didn’t laugh. And maybe that was even worse, that he wasn’t laughing. He was just looking at Keith, curiously, his hair a mess at the front and his eyes a deep, dark grey that threatened to drown Keith if he looked back. As soon as he could stuff his things in his bag, Keith shouldered it, shoved past Dumb and Dumberer, and fucked off in a mortified hurry.

 

They knew each other, sort of. Well, Shiro probably didn't even know Keith existed, but Keith knew him. Captain of the rugby team, Shiro was built like a tank, tall, with a voice so deep it vibrated in Keith's bones when he heard it from across a room. They had one class together, Keith's first college drawing class -- which Shiro was apparently being forced to take to fulfill his creative arts requirement. He wasn't good at drawing, but he tried. Sort of. And it was… endearing, a little. Keith was pretty sure they’d made eye contact once. Twice? Maybe only once. 

Great, Keith thought. Now he thinks I’m a freak. And probably a murderer. That’s great. I can’t wait for that entire stupid frat house to burn down. Keith sipped at a steaming coffee, trekking across campus, his lungs aching in the cold with every inhale.

“Hey, wait!”

Keith knew he shouldn’t turn around, shouldn’t acknowledge it. He recognized that voice. That smooth, deep, irritating voice that frightened him and lured him at the same time.

Despite his best efforts to look like he hadn’t heard him, the guy was running up to him anyway, keeping pace as Keith powered down the white sidewalk through campus.

“Keith!” Shiro gasped, slowing to walk beside him.

Keith shot him an icy glare, half in surprise, half in annoyance. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Keith tried not to appear shaken. “Usually only my friends use it.”

“Yeah, I asked that girl from our art class.” Shiro struggled to remember. “The blond one, with the short hair. Katie? But everybody calls her Pidge. You’re in my art class, right?”

Keith’s heart hammered in his throat. “Yeah.”

“Look, I just wanted to apologize.” Shiro’s breathing slowed. “For earlier. Don’t pay my friends any attention, they’re idiots. Actually, I can’t say they’re really my friends, anyway. They’re frat brothers.”

“Yeah,” Keith said coolly.

“I didn’t get to see what you were drawing, but I bet it was good. You’re really great at drawing. I mean, the professor is always pinning your stuff to the wall.”

“Thanks.”

“So are you, uh, a fine arts major?”

“Nursing.” Keith felt his cheeks growing warm. “I want to work in pediatrics.” He wasn’t sure why he was volunteering that, but it spilled out.

“That’s amazing. You like kids?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too. I can’t wait to have my own.”

Keith noticed he was walking a little slower, now, and their paces matched. He clutched his oversized hardcover anatomy textbook to his chest. “What’s your major?” he ventured, though he couldn’t say why he asked.

“I have two,” Shiro laughed. “Political science and American government. Pre-law track, because I hate myself.”

“Clearly.” Keith let a breathy little laugh escape, to his own surprise. “So, dumb frat boy on his way to sleazy lawyer? Original.”

“Well, not until I pass the bar.” Shiro played along so easily, like the banter was commonplace between them. “So, right now I’m just a dumb frat boy.”

Keith cracked a smile, but hid it by turning his face away. “Yeah. I knew it.”

“Speaking of which,” he added, “Phi Alpha Delta is hosting the annual Halloween party for all the houses this weekend. You gonna be there?”

Keith nearly spit his coffee. “I’m not in a frat.”

“Well, yeah, I knew that.” A chuckle. “It’s not just for Greeks.”

“I’m not old enough to drink.”

Shiro snorted in amusement. “So? Plenty of freshmen go. I mean, you don’t have to drink, but no one’s gonna be the Booze Police as long as you pay the five bucks for your cup. And don’t worry, I’m not gonna let anybody bother you.”

Keith’s thoughts raced. How did he go from trying to brush this guy off as much as possible to… this? He had to think quickly. This was going too far.

“Well, maybe I’ll show up.” He kept his voice level. “Maybe I won’t.”

“That’s fair.” Shiro grinned at him, and Keith had to look away again. “I hope you come, Keith. I gotta get to class -- I’ll seeya.”

He jogged away down a split in the path, and Keith kept on his way, though for some reason he allowed himself a millisecond-long glance back at the disappearing figure. The stupid bro-y loose-fitting sweatpants and hoodie and backwards baseball cap that made him want to punch the guy out. He was so annoying. So cocky. Irritating. So goddamn….

Cute.

Keith choked on the thought, shoved it down. No, no, no. Absolutely fucking not. He is off limits. You will not go to that party. You will not…

But he called me Keith. 

It was such a small thing for everyone else, probably -- being called by your name --, but it was something huge when you weren’t born with it. Shiro had gone out of his way to learn his chosen name, and from someone he knew Keith trusted -- and it seemed not to have changed his intentions. What was that about? Though he supposed it could still be cause for dismay, after all; he hadn’t even been on testosterone for a full month yet. He wasn’t where he wanted to be, physically, by any means. So it was possible Shiro still thought he was a girl. Just some confused, rough girl whose pussy he could still land if he tried hard enough.

Fuck off, Keith thought. I’m not falling for that.

But by the time that following Saturday came, Keith was frowning into his dorm room mirror, adjusting a headband with black velvet cat ears.

“What am I doing?” he kept whispering to himself. “I am so fucked.” 

He zipped up his black leather jacket and set out for Phi Alpha Delta.

__________________

 

Katie Holt [4:23pm]: Hey, do you work tonight?  
Katie Holt [4:23pm]: You never got back to me about Matt’s birthday party.  
Katie Holt [4:35pm]: Please don’t leave me alone with these idiots lol.  
Katie Holt [4:46pm]: Keith pls.  
Me [4:47pm]: No, I’m off tonight.  
Me [4:47pm]: I’ll be there. Don’t worry.

 

Matt’s birthday party was in Katie’s apartment, and for once, Keith could actually see the living room floor. All of her half-finished projects were pushed into corners, her books stacked into waist-high piles, and she was yelling over the music every now and then to stop a drunken guest from setting a drink down on the aging hardcovers.

She greeted Keith with a squeal and hugged him tight. “You look like,” she slurred, “you need a fucking drink.”

“Yes, I do,” Keith answered flatly. “God, I do.”

“Keith!” Matt found him in the tight-packed crowd near the kitchen, folding him in one arm and using the other to stuff a beer in Keith’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Matt had really grown into his good looks. He’d grown his hair out, and most days he wore it in a messy gold bun at his neck, his jawline thick and sharp like it had been cut with an axe. He was still one of the smartest people Keith knew, but the difference now was that he was terribly attractive. So he was a sexy nerd who still didn’t really know how to talk to people.

“It’s been forever,” Keith answered politely. He couldn’t help but feel a heat in his cheekbones at the close attention. “How’ve you been?”

“You have my number!” Matt replied, a mock sourness in his voice as he stuck out a pouting lip. “Why don’t you ever text me? I miss you.” He was tipsy. Keith could tell.

“Ah… I just have a lot going on.” Keith tried to smile to make up for his awkwardness.

“Are you almost done studying to be a… more important nurse?” He meant an NP. The question was innocuous, and Keith realized with dread that he and Matt must not have seen each other since he and Shiro had still been… together. Dating. Partnered? What even were they, now? Broken up? Or...

“Oh, no… That’s on hold for now,” Keith stammered. “Y’know, since…”

“I told you not to ask him about that!” Katie shrieked over the stereo, kicking Matt in the shin. “You dumbass!”

“Ow!” Matt yelled, clamoring behind Keith as a shield. He was flushed and warm, hanging a little too heavily on Keith’s shoulders, and Keith felt a twinge of shyness. “I’m sorry! Keith, I’m sorry. Please forgive me, you beautiful single tropical fish. Remember, there are plenty of fish in the s-”

“I will kill you where you stand!” Katie bellowed, sloshing a beer toward him.

“Don’t let her get me,” Matt whined in Keith’s ear. “It’s my birthday, for Pete’s sake! I can’t die on my birthday!”

Keith escaped after a while to the balcony outside the living room, sucking in the fresh, chilly night air like he’d almost drowned. At first he thought he was alone, until a deep voice from somewhere in the back corner of the balcony startled him out of his skin.

“Too much fun in there?” It was friendly, warm. 

Keith spun around. “Sorry! Thought I was the only one who knew about this spot.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” His face was round but hard at the same time, dusted with dark stubble, and dark almond eyes took him in with a level gaze. Long black hair in a braid that fell against his shoulder. Big hands, beautiful dark skin. “Brownie?”

“What?” Keith stared at him blankly until he reached over to the table beside him and held up a tray.

“Pot brownies,” he laughed. “Fair warning, I think I might have overdone it, so maybe only have half of one until you see how it feels for you.”

“Oh. Um…” Keith shook his head. “No, thanks. I appreciate it, but… trying to keep my head.” 

The other man grinned, set the tray down. “I hear ya.”

“Maybe later.”

“For sure. It’s here whenever you want it.”

“Thanks. Is that seat taken?” Keith pointed to the plastic deck chair beside him.

“It is now,” he answered easily.

Keith sat, crossing one leg over the other, folding his arms. “Are you one of Matt’s friends?”

“And Katie! We’re all in the same grad program. Sorry, should have introduced myself. I’m Hunk.” He held out a hand that completely enveloped Keith’s when he shook it.

“Keith.”

“Oh, really?” Hunk’s eyes lit up. “So you’re Keith. Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“That’s… not good, is it?” Keith said, managing a dark laugh.

“No, it is! I mean, I’ve heard only good stuff.” Hunk laughed, too, warmer. “They both think the world of you. I’m honored, really.”

Keith felt a stab of shame. “That’s… that’s really nice of you.”

“Actually, I’m being a little selfish…”

Keith shot him a questioning look. “Huh?”

“I was really hoping I’d get to meet you tonight, because….” He scratched at his wiry beard. “Since you’re Katie’s best friend and all, besides her idiot brother, I wanted to get your advice.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “On what?”

“On… Katie, I guess.” He laughed. “I really like her. I like her so much. But I haven’t worked up the courage to ask her out, because… I just don’t know, you know?”

The hair on the back of Keith’s neck stood on end. “You don’t know if you want to go out with her?”

“Oh, no, I definitely want to go out with her.” His tone was so gentle. He was smiling to himself just thinking about it. Cute, Keith thought with a twinge of sadness. “I just don’t know how to tell her how I feel. A note? Or maybe a card? But she doesn’t really strike me as the card and flowers type, so…”

“I think you should just tell her.” It came out faster than Keith could really think about it. “Believe me, I’m definitely not qualified to give anyone advice in the relationships department, but… just tell her, and do it before it’s too late. And if she feels the same way, then… things will just happen naturally. You’ll see.”

Hunk studied him for a beat, nodding, smiling. “Man, you’re right. There’s a place we always go together on Friday nights to study -- this old-timey diner -- and I think I’ll say something then. Do you think…?”

“That sounds perfect,” Keith said. “And, hey… she might not say yes the first time. She’s way too independent for her own good sometimes. But…” Keith found himself smiling. “She likes when people are upfront, and when they don’t try to flatter her. So… yeah, French fries, not flowers, okay?”

“You got it, pal. Thanks."

 

 

Me [11:41pm]: Do you hate me?  
Lance McClain [11:45pm]: No.  
Lance McClain [11:48pm]: What are you doing?  
Me [11:48pm]: At a friend’s place. Leaving soon, though.  
Me [11:49pm]: I’m sorry if you’re still mad. It’s okay if you’re mad at me. I’m sorry.  
Lance McClain [11:49pm]: I’m not mad.  
Lance McClain [11:49pm]: He said you’re not talking.  
Me [11:50pm]: I told him I need space.  
Me [11:50pm]: I’m sorry you had to get involved. I appreciate you covering for him.  
Lance McClain [11:56pm]: I didn’t do it for him. I think you know that.

Keith cradled his phone close to his chest, breathed deep. He was sitting on Katie’s couch under a blanket, feet tucked under him, most of the other partygoers having cleared out by now. Empty plastic cups lay abandoned on every flat surface, except for the book stacks. Keith heaved a sigh, studied the messages again.

Me [12:01am]: Are you at home?  
Lance McClain [12:02am]: Yeah.  
Lance McClain [12:02am]: You want to come by?

Keith stared at the message. Come by? It’s midnight, he thought. Tomorrow was Saturday -- neither of them had to work in the morning, but he wasn't really a stay-out-past-midnight kind of guy anymore, unless he was staying in someone’s...

Keith bit his lip. He wasn't totally trashed -- he'd been pretty careful tonight despite his emotional state -- so he could tell, with a little digging, what Lance was really asking. For some reason, it gave him a little flutter of excitement in his belly, a little burst of something hot.

Me [12:06]: Sure. I’ll be there in 10.

__________________________

 

He hailed a cab and made it to Lance’s building earlier than he’d thought, fumbled with his wallet to pay the driver, stumbled up the steep stone steps of the apartment complex. The little trees outside were hung with fairy lights. Keith buzzed Lance’s apartment, and the gate groaned open with a robotic shudder. 

Lance’s place was on the top floor, but thankfully there was an elevator, and he was alone in it. At the end of the hall, Lance’s door was painted dark green and the welcome mat said “Pleased To Greet You” with blue raindrop shapes and a blue umbrella woven into the thatch.

This is a bad idea, Keith thought. But he still rang the bell.

Lance answered the door in his boxers and a dark robe slung over his shoulders. “Hey,” he said shortly, letting Keith into the foyer and shutting the door quietly behind him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Keith shrugged off his jacket, hung it by the door. It wasn’t weird to be inside Lance’s apartment -- they’d had dinner together, watched movies, wrapped their friends’ Christmas presents in this place together before -- but tonight felt different. The apartment smelled the same, pleasant and sweet, but the air had changed between them. 

“This is where you murder me, right?” Keith joked darkly, stepping out of his shoes.

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but hey, I’m always willing to make a compromise.” Lance chuckled, ducked into the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”

“What d’you got?”

“Lemon vodka and iced tea.”

Keith snorted a little with laughter. “Perfect.”

They sat together on Lance’s little black leather sofa, Lance looking strangely relaxed with an arm over the back of the couch, almost like… if he moved a little closer, he could have it around Keith’s shoulders. Keith didn’t pull away, but kept taking tentative sips of his drink, wondering when the small talk would falter.

Inevitably, it did.

“I’m sorry I ignored your calls there for a bit.” Lance spoke softly in the quiet, dim-lit space. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was upset.”

“I know.” Keith studied his face. “You had a right to be.”

“No, I’m your friend. I care about you. I shouldn’t have been like that when I knew you needed me.”

“It’s fine.” Keith took another sip. The drink was strong. Good. “I really… don’t know what I’m doing lately.”

“Whatya mean?”

“With Shiro.” Keith swallowed hard. “I love him a lot. Everybody knows that. But I need him to…”

Lance waited for a beat. “What?”

“I need him to stand up for me,” Keith said honestly. “Or something. I feel like he’s… I feel like he’s ashamed of me.”

“It’s not you.” Lance’s brows knitted in sympathy. “You’re not something to be ashamed of, so it’s his own problem. Haven’t I always told you that?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a big boy, and he can make his own choices. He’s chosen to sweep you under the rug when it suits him.”

Keith looked away, suddenly. “But I did it to him, too.”

“Huh?”

“Back when I… when we lost the baby. I pushed him away. We had already stopped having sex months before that, so…”

“It wasn’t you.” Lance’s voice was calm, almost stern. “You know that, right? You were just as beautiful then as you are now.”

Keith felt his cheeks simmering. He glanced up. “Why do you always say that kind of stuff?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Is that it? Just because it’s the truth?”

Lance faltered for a beat. He swirled the ice around in his glass. “No, of course that’s not all.” He looked down into the whirlpool of liquid, gathered his courage, then stared point blank into Keith’s eyes. “I want you, Keith. I’ve wanted you since I first met you. But you understand why I can’t just say that to you all the time, right? You’ve always been with him.”

Keith held his gaze, then dropped it to the floor. “Yeah. I have. It’s been… eight years. There’s almost a decade of history between us. How could I throw that away?”

“You’re not,” Lance said gently. “You’re human. You’re doing what you can. And I’m being selfish and inserting myself into it, but…” He sighed, put his empty glass down on the table. “I get so jealous of him sometimes I can’t see straight.”

Keith glanced his way. “Why?”

“Because…” Lance’s cheekbones took on a rosy tint. “Sometimes it seems like… like he doesn’t even realize what he has. He has this… smart, caring, funny, gorgeous guy fighting so hard to keep him, and it drives me up a wall… Keith, if I had you, I…”

Keith set down his glass, too, and looked at him. Reached for him, hesitant, brushed a brassy curl from his temple.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m not with him tonight. I’m with you. I don’t know what that means, but…” He moved closer, slowly. Their knees brushed, then their hips. Keith’s hand fell from Lance’s cheek, down his skinny chest, rested on his thigh. “I don’t think I can give you what you want. I can’t give anybody that, not right now. But… I know how to show thanks to someone who’s good to me.”

The words sent a shudder of desire down his own spine, and Lance visibly swallowed, the little apple in his throat bobbing. His body was hot through his clothes.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Lance whispered.

Keith’s eyes fluttered closed. “You’re not gonna hurt me, Lance. There’s nothing left to hurt.”

“Then I want to make you feel wanted,” Lance murmured. His lips were suddenly close to Keith’s ear, and Keith kept his eyes closed, just breathing and sensing his warmth. Lance kissed the side of his face, so soft, drawing a loose line of sweet pecks down his neck. Keith sighed, let him kiss his way down to his collarbone while his warm hands ventured up under his shirt. 

“Can we… go to bed?” Keith breathed.

“Yeah.”

________________________

 

“Are you okay?” 

Keith barely registered the gentle whisper. He tried to steady his breathing, raking fistfuls of his own black hair as he came down from the high. Lance was nestled between his thighs, his lips in the cleft of Keith’s shoulder, their chests heaving against each other. Lance’s cock was still buried inside of him, softening, still spurting thick spunk into Keith’s tight channel.

Wetness. Keith felt his heart leap into his throat. This wasn't just the slick from his cunt. This was thick, warm, leaking out of him around Lance’s length.  
He hissed his name, panicked. The reality of what must have happened hit him like a bag of bricks.

“Shit,” Lance said, pulling out of him hurriedly, leaning over to switch on the bedside lamp. He looked down, inspected the condom hanging loose off his penis. It was covered in semen. “Shit,” he said again.

“It broke?” Keith’s voice was high-pitched. He sat up, breathed too fast. “But it was… fine… wasn’t it? Was it expired? I checked.” Keith fought a wave of nausea. “I checked it.”

Lance fixed him with a pale stare. “You should go take a bath. Don’t worry. Please don’t leave, I’ll get you a Plan-B pack in the morning. The pharmacy is right on the corner.”

“But I…” Keith’s heart raced. Plan-B? Preventing anything at all… when less than a year ago, and still to this day, all he wanted was...

Conflicting emotions sent hot tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“Keith, it’ll be okay.” 

“I have to go wash up,” Keith rasped, and he threw the sheets off and slipped naked and freezing into the bathroom, shutting himself in with his terror.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter: sexual harassment, non-explicit description of assault, blood (from non-sexual violence).

Though Lance had of course invited him back to bed with soft reassurances and kisses and soft touches to his shoulders, Keith slept on the black leather couch in the living room, which probably made things even more awkward between them -- but neither could help it. Lance rechecked the condom. He found no holes visible, but Keith waved him away when he tried to start up the conversation again, so they both slept alone. Keith didn’t do much sleeping, really, but it was too late in the night and his head was pounding and he felt too ill to get a cab all the way back to his apartment.

The morning went as promised; Lance begged him to stay put while he yanked sweatpants up and a jacket over a shirtless chest, careening out the front door as soon as the pharmacy opened at 8 a.m. This left Keith to sit alone in Lance’s apartment, and he sat very still on the couch, unmoving, his knees tucked up to his chin, staring into the shaft of sunlight slicing the air from the window, the dust motes swirling within it.

Lance returned impossibly fast. He set the terrible green and blue package down on the coffee table at Keith’s feet. 

“Here,” he said gently. 

“I’ll pay you for it.” Keith’s throat was so dry it cracked. “I have cash in my bag.”

“No, it’s okay. I got it.”

He could tell Lance wanted to sit down next to him, but he didn’t. Keith didn’t invite him. Instead, Keith rose slowly from the couch, picked up the box, crossed the dining room to drop it into his bag. 

“Thanks,” he said hollowly. 

“You should take the first one as soon as you can,” Lance said, a little more urgently.

“Yeah, I will. I’m going home right now.”

“Will you call me? Text me? When you take it. You have to take the second one in twelve hours.”

“Got it.” Keith shouldered his bag. He’d already dressed, and Lance was looking like he wanted to say a lot more, but his strained expression seemed to be preventing it.

“Keith,” he said, but when Keith caught his gaze, he faltered. “Um, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used the one I had in my wallet.”  
“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I should’ve been more careful. But I mean, don’t worry too much, okay? I’ve had plenty of girls freak out about this before, but as long as you take the pills there’s really nothing to...” He tried to backpedal, realizing his mistake with a pale face, but Keith knew immediately where his mind had drifted. “Ah, sorry, that’s… That’s not…” Lance grimaced. “Keith, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant…”

“No, you don’t have to explain. I had a good time while it lasted, so… thanks.” Keith shrugged and brushed past him.

“Keith, I didn’t mean... Please don’t go.”

Keith shut the door carefully behind him, until he heard the deadbolt shudder into place.

________________________

 

“Hey, Mullet Girl, you want some of this?” He was in a navy and bright yellow sweater, some hideous country club piece he probably had to wear to dinner with his parents, and he was shoving Keith against the countertop in the crowded kitchen. It was so loud, cups sloshing, music blasting, laughing, screaming, hotter than Hell, and the bleach-blonde frat boy was pushing his hips up against Keith’s. His breath reeked of alcohol when he hissed in his face. “I know you want me. I saw how you were looking.”

In truth, Keith hadn’t been looking at all. If anything, he’d been trying to squeeze through the crowd to look for the rugby captain, still nowhere to be found. Not looking at anyone in particular, though this one thought himself the star of the show.

“Get off me,” Keith growled. “Fuck off.”

“Playing hard to get,” the older guy slurred, and a hand groped at Keith’s ribs over his leather jacket, fumbling upward, searching for a breast. “I like girls like you.”

“Get away from me!” Keith struggled against him, and his first shove barely moved the hulking athlete. Keith’s full height barely rose to his shoulder.  
“Well that’s what they all say,” the guy drawled, burying his face in Keith’s neck, “but I know you mean yes.”

Keith could feel tears welling up behind his eyes, his heart racing. No one else in the kitchen was even paying attention, lost in their own revelry. No one cared. No one knew him, no one could hear him, no one was going to help him even if he screamed.

Shiro. Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. It became like a heavy bell swinging in his brain, a deep tolling.

Hands. Sweaty, clammy, creeping between the slit in his jacket zipper and climbing the front of his shirt. His chest was bound, but he still felt them through the nylon, and he hated himself for starting to cry, and then…

The frat boy let out a yell of surprise as he was dragged backward, two massive arms around his shoulders that threw him back against the marble kitchen island, and he swore and struggled against the merciless grip. 

“He told you to fuck off,” Shiro roared, dumping the hapless drunken man to the floor of the kitchen. The others gathered around in their tight groups started to stare, sidle out of the way of the scuffle. Shiro glared down at the other, his rock solid shoulder muscles as tense as coiled springs under his grey t-shirt, his murky eyes blazing.

“‘He?’ That’s a bitch, my bro, can’t you tell? Find your own pussy, anyway. Somebody already beat you to it.”

“Shut your motherfucking mouth, before I knock your teeth out,” another guy shouted, shouldering through the gaggle and standing in front of Keith; the latter could tell he was one of Shiro’s rugby teammates, by his sweatshirt. It said Kinkade on the back. Keith had heard his name before.

Shiro was unfazed. He turned, and Keith knew he looked like an idiot standing there crying, and he wanted to run, but this was the one person he wasn’t scared of. Their eyes met.

“Are you okay?” Shiro breathed.

Keith was about to answer, but then the glass shattered. It was so quick he could barely warn him when the guy behind him picked up the discarded liquor bottle and smashed it against the leg of the island, stood up to lunge at Shiro. Not even Kinkade was fast enough; only his arm shoved across Shiro’s chest pushed him back at the angle that saved his eyes.

The blonde swung the bottle, the razor-sharp edge aimed at Shiro’s face. It connected with the flesh of his left cheekbone, sliced across the bridge of his nose, ended on his right cheek. Blood sprayed Kinkade’s arm, the white linoleum floor. A girl across the room screamed.

Half the rugby team was suddenly in the kitchen, brutally tackling the sore loser and wrestling him to the floor, wrenching the broken bottle from his hand, kicking and pinning until the flailing assailant was incapacitated. Kinkade cussed, ran for the roll of paper towels by the sink.

“Shiro,” Keith screamed over the music. He was surprised at himself, the way it came out. Stricken. Breaking with emotion.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked him again, and he was pressing the sleeve of his t-shirt to his face to soak up the blood gushing from his face.

“I’m fine,” Keith stuttered. “I’m not the one who just got hurt.”

“Yes, you are.” Shiro accepted a wad of paper towels from Kinkade and held them to the ragged gash. “I’m sorry. They’ll take care of that son of a bitch, he’s not coming back in here. Come with me.” He was using a free hand -- that one bloody, too -- to take Keith’s arm and lead him out of the exploding commotion of the kitchen. Keith didn’t question it, didn’t even think twice; he followed him.

 

They sat in one of the upstairs bathrooms of the frat house. Keith, despite himself, couldn’t stop crying. Shiro had bled through the paper towel, and he threw it in the sink and replaced it with a wad of toilet paper. Keith put the toilet seat cover down and sank onto it, and Shiro locked the door and ran the water so he could splash it over the gash.

“I’m sorry,” Keith sobbed. “I’m really sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Shiro responded, not looking at him. “It’s not your fault.” He threw the blood-soaked wad of toilet paper into the sink and unrolled himself another one.

“You should go to the hospital,” Keith croaked.

“For this? Nah.” Shiro shook his head, eyeing it in the mirror and then tipping his head back so it stopped running down his face. “You should see everywhere else on me. Shit happens.” He turned to Keith, fixing him with an apologetic stare. “Listen, it’s gonna be fine. We know this guy, he’s some sophomore on the baseball team who thinks he’s hot shit. We’ll make sure we report him for this. He’ll get kicked out of his frat and off the team. And probably the school, but we’ll see.”

“No, I…” Keith drew his knuckles under his eyes, frustrated at the way the tears wouldn’t stop coming. 

“Don’t tell me it’s not a big deal. Or however you were about to say no to that.” Shiro glanced in the mirror again, pulling away the toilet paper intermittently to check the flow of blood. “It’s not okay for people to hurt you. He’s gonna pay for that.”

Keith swallowed. “How’s your nose?”

“Still attached, I think.” The older guy chuckled. “Bleeding’s stopping, so I don’t need to go get stitches. Right?” He turned back to Keith, showing him the cut. “You know this stuff, right?”

“I’m a freshman,” Keith choked, but he found himself smiling. “I’m about as good a nurse as WebMD right now.”

“Oh, okay, so I have three kinds of cancer and a deadly infection, then.” Shiro nodded in mock astuteness. “Tough prognosis, but I’ll deal.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said again, because he didn’t know what else to say. But he smiled a little.

“You look cute.”

“What?” Keith’s breath caught in his throat. He thought he’d misheard.

“The ears.” Shiro pointed. “I like cats.”

Keith had entirely forgotten. He reached up in temporary confusion to touch the black velvet cat ears, still stupidly perked upright on his headband.  
“Stupid,” Keith whispered. “I’m so… stupid.”

“They look good.” Shiro grinned. “Kinda sexy.”

“You know you’re calling another guy sexy.” It came out harder than Keith wanted to be in this moment, but his defensiveness got the best of him. He hated the way the tone of his voice rose in anger. As if on cue, his chest ached from the tightness of the binder, the thing he wore all day long, every day.

Shiro blinked like he didn’t see the problem. “Yeah, so?”

Keith stared at him for a beat, bewildered. “So you… you know. About me.”

“Not really.” Shiro shrugged. He tossed the last bloody wad into the sink and ran the faucet. “I mean, I know you’re a freshman in the nursing program. You want to be a pediatric nurse, you like kids, you’re really good at drawing. You look great as a cat.”

Keith snorted in laughter. “That’s all you need to know, really.”

“Is it really not painfully obvious that I…?” Shiro leaned against the sink, suddenly looking shy as he glanced from Keith’s face to the floor and back up again. “I mean, am I just not saying things right?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Saying what right?”

“I like you.” Shiro’s hands went out to either side in a gesture of resignation. “I hate to say this, but I’ve been too chickenshit to talk to you since the first day of class, so my frat brothers bothering you that day was the first time I actually got up the courage to talk to you. I mean, besides asking to borrow an eraser, or whatever.”

Keith felt his cheeks simmering, reddening. “Wh... what? Why?”

“Because… I don’t know, believe it or not, I’m not very good at this.”

“No, I mean, why do you like me?” It came out in a high pitch of disbelief. He put his fingers to his lips as if he could call it back in.

“Um…” Shiro laughed, a little nervous, scratching at the buzzed hair on the back of his neck. “That’s a loaded question.”

“No, never mind.”

“No, I’ll tell you. It sounds dumb, but…” Shiro sat down on the tile floor a respectful few feet away, and Keith found himself aching to be closer. “I don’t know, you just… you look familiar.”

“Familiar?”

“Yeah, like… like I knew you before. Sometimes when you’re working on something in class, I watch your eyes going over the paper… Sorry, that’s weird. I don’t know. Don’t you ever get that feeling about somebody, like… like maybe in a different life, somebody looked at you the way they look at something they really like doing?”

“You,” Keith said softly, “are either drunk, or… a really bizarre kind of person.”

“I’m not drunk,” Shiro whispered. He moved closer across the floor, and Keith watched in silence as one of his bruised hands hesitated midair, then went back to his side. Keith couldn’t tell why he found himself leaning forward, closer. 

Shiro studied him. “Can I kiss you?”

The inquiry sent a bolt of white lightning from Keith’s gut to his heart.

“No,” he breathed.

“Okay.”

Silence. A comfortable one, actually, though neither knew why.

“Can I kiss you?” The question came from Keith this time. He tucked a lock of black hair behind his ear.

Shiro laughed. It was such a sweet sound. “Yes.”

And then Keith was leaning down to press his lips against Shiro’s, and their kiss was warm and bright; and Keith thought maybe he really could believe those bizarre fantasies, those of other lives where they’d shared these things before.

________________________

 

Lance McClain [10:04am]: Did you get home ok?  
Lance McClain [10:09am]: I am really sorry for slipping up like that. I don’t think of you as a woman or anything like that.  
Lance McClain [10:09am]: I got nervous. About getting you pregnant and all.  
Lance McClain [10:09am]: I know what happened before between you and Shiro and I don’t want us to go through that.  
Lance McClain [10:10am]: I’m not ready to be a dad. I’m just not at that point in my life yet. You know what I mean?  
Lance McClain [10:12am]: Please take the meds.

 

Me [11:13am]: It’s done. You don’t need to worry about anything.  
Me [11:13am]: I can’t see you anymore. I’m sorry. 

 

Keith stared at the message he sent for a moment. Had he really just cut Lance off? He’d only made a slip of the tongue, but it was more than that. He couldn’t figure out how much more there was to it, but something felt… off. He fixated on his phone screen, waiting for Lance’s inevitable outburst of a response. Waited. Waited some more. Nothing.

For someone who’d repeatedly told him he’d fight tooth and nail to keep him from his doorway, Lance hadn’t really tried to stop him. Hadn’t chased him. The most he’d done was text him an hour after he’d left, and even then… He was terrified. Terrified at the thought that he and Keith could conceive together. Keith supposed it was only logical. Reasonable. Lance was right to be afraid for his future; they didn’t want the same things. They weren’t married. They weren’t even dating. Lance had never signed up to have a baby with him.

Keith stared at the box he’d set in front of him on his own kitchen table. He thought briefly of the flickering flame of life that might be lodged in one of his fallopian tubes at this very second. This little collection of a few cells, clinging desperately to life as the pill dissolved in his stomach, the pill that wouldn’t even work if he was already pregnant. People didn’t always know that. That emergency contraception from the drugstore wouldn’t work if the egg was already fertilized. Sometimes it really did happen that quick. One night, one rush of blood, one spark of divine inspiration that his body would readily heed, the way all Nature had designed it. He supposed, if it came down to it and Plan B didn’t work, there was always Plan C. He supposed Lance would advise him to terminate the pregnancy, too.

He remembered the camping trip again. The locusts singing, the rhythmic calm of the forest, the chuckle of a stream. He remembered the navy blue socks he kept on while he slipped off his shorts and underwear, the shadows of the overhanging leaves and the bright spots of sun shining on the nylon ceiling of the tent. Keith lay on his back on top of a red polyester sleeping bag, staring up at the quivering leaf silhouettes as Shiro settled on top of him. Keith folded his hard, warm body between his legs and held him there, and they kissed long and slow, all the time in the world. Patient. Affectionate. 

“I don’t have a condom, Keith.” Shiro stared down into his eyes, propped up on his elbows, stroking Keith’s hair back from his face. 

Keith’s hands were roaming his bare shoulders. He squeezed them lightly. “It’s okay.”

“We can… do lots of other things,” Shiro suggested, grinning. 

“No.” It was only a whisper. Their eyes stayed locked. “You can cum inside me. If you want to.”

Shiro’s brows rose in surprise. “Now? Are you sure?”

“Shiro, you passed your bar exam on the first try.” Keith smiled, and it glowed with pride. He craned his neck to kiss him again. “And you got your dream job in New York, like you always wanted. I think this is the best time to do something crazy, don’t you?”

Shiro laughed, soft, and mouthed at his neck. “Something crazy… like… putting a bun in your oven?”

“Yeah. But please don’t say it like that ever again,” Keith snorted with laughter. 

“Aren’t you the one constantly referring to your patients as ‘chicken nuggets?’”

“Shiro!” 

They laughed together, touched each other. He remembered the elastic waistband of Shiro’s black basketball shorts, how he slipped his fingers under it and tugged them down and then pulled him closer. Closer. He always just wanted him closer. It was never enough.

A warm breeze blew against the side of the tent, and Shiro breathed soft sounds of pleasure into Keith’s neck as he moved inside of him. It was patient, passionate. Keith closed his eyes and held him and let his knees drift up toward his ribs, his ass pressed firmly into the sleeping bag and the tent floor and the soft earth underneath, and some primal sense of security washed his mind clean. He felt part of the earth, part of the landscape, something between a salt mine and an animal. Beautiful. It felt beautiful.

“Takashi,” he gasped. “I love you.”

“Hmm,” Shiro hummed, and one of his hands slid up the sleeping bag to lace fingers with Keith’s. They were still moving, still fucking, but there was a wonderful stillness inside their bodies. Calm. Keith’s free arm wrapped Shiro’s shoulders tight, and their chests heaved in tandem, their hearts thudding against each other. “I love you, too.” 

They came together, and Keith’s fingernails dug little red crescents into Shiro’s shoulder, and he struggled for breath as his cunt squeezed the length inside of him. Shiro had his face in Keith’s hair, his warm breath in his ear, his cock red and full and twitching and spurting inside of Keith’s pulsing channel. They lay like that for some time, tangled in each other, Shiro buried inside of him long after his hardness had softened. 

“I’m here, Keith.” Shiro murmured close to his ear in the resumed quiet. “No matter what happens. I’m here.”

"I know."

_______________________

 

Keith’s phone buzzed against the bedside table on Sunday morning, too early. He groaned awake and groped along the surface of the table until he could grasp it in a shaky, exhausted hand and squint into the screen. Unknown number. He almost let it go to voicemail, but thought better of it; the hospital always had weird numbers. Maybe they were overwhelmed today, maybe they needed him to come in.

“Hi, this is Keith.”

“Keith?”

A shaky, crying woman’s voice. Not Katie. Keith sat up in bed. “Yes? Who is this?”

“It’s Allura.” A pause. “Allura Aguillard.”

Interesting, Keith thought, that she’d maintained her maiden name. “Allura, hi. What’s…” He was suddenly struck with a deep fear, one that felt like he’d been dropped onto a bed of needles. “Is Shiro okay?” He wanted to punch himself in the throat for leading with that. “Are you okay?”

“Takashi is fine, I’m sure,” she answered, her tone sour. He thought he heard her take a sobbing breath. “I hate to ask you this, Keith, but… I need to speak with you. You’re the closest friend he has, and…” She hesitated. “And right now I think you might know him better than I do, so I need your help. Please, please come.” 

Keith was already sliding out of bed, albeit hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re both all right?”

“Physically, yes. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you more than that until I see you. I’m at the Hilton on 57th, between 6th and 7th. I’ll pay for you cab. Can you get to me?”

“Yes.” Keith’s heart thudded liquidly in his throat. “Yes, I’ll leave now.”

“Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” She was definitely crying, now. “Thank you so much. It means so much to me.”

Don’t thank me yet, Keith thought. He managed one last reassurance before he hung up and struggled into jeans. What was this all about? So Shiro hadn’t told her. He hadn’t told her anything. It had been three days since Keith had called it over and Shiro still, still hadn’t made the move.  
And now Keith was going to have to do it. If he even could. Could he look his lover’s wife in the face and tell her he was the one who'd ruined her life?

Well, it didn’t matter. Come what may, he and Shiro were over. They were definitely over this time.

Definitely.

Weren’t they?


	7. Part Seven

“Oh, Keith, you came.” Allura had her hair pulled up in a strict tight bun at the top of her head, not a strand out of place, and her clothes were pristine and pressed -- a pure white pant suit with a ruffled baby pink blouse, a pearl necklace. She looked beautiful. Professional. Not at all like Keith had expected to find her, knowing what she knew. But he’d clearly misjudged her.

“Of course,” Keith answered, a little stiffly. 

“Please, come with me.” She didn’t touch him, not even a handshake, as she pivoted on one white stiletto and led him into her room.

The room itself was stately. Absolutely palatial. Keith figured it must be a high-level suite of some kind. The first room they entered was a sprawling living area with soft pink couches, pillows sewn with beads and crystals. A crystal chandelier dangled, sparkling, over a massive empty dining table of fine dark wood. The door to the bedroom was shut, but the sliding glass door at the far end of the common room was open to the crisp morning air, and Allura stepped out onto the marble balcony like a queen showing him to his execution chamber.

On the balcony lay a crystal table with two silver chairs, cushioned generously with the same twinkling pillows, and two glasses of what looked like champagne. Ah, there’s the sign of the times, Keith thought. The balcony rail was covered in hanging plants and flowers, bright pink lilies and geraniums and climbing ivy. A vase of fresh daffodils sat in the center of the table, and Keith sat down opposite as one of the attendants pulled out her chair for her and then left them.

“I’m sure you’re aware I’ve been away for some time,” Allura began, “and that I was not due back for a few days yet, but that things have changed.”  
Keith wasn’t sure how he should respond. Should he interrupt her? Just come out with it? He felt his cowardice like an illness in the pit of his stomach. Instead of responding, he decided to take a sip of champagne and glance at her over the rim, a little nod indicating that she should go on.

“I’m sure you also know that Takashi and I were due to take our honeymoon later this week. But that won’t be happening now, given the circumstances.” She, too, took a sip from her glass, looking like she wanted to down it but reluctantly setting it back down on the tabletop with grace. “I got word last night that my father has died.”

Keith felt his brows knit in sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I lost my father, too, when I was young.”

“Yes. I knew you would understand my sense of loss. And perhaps… you’d also understand my desperation, what I was driven to, in order to care for him. To try to prevent this as best I could. But in the end, it was for nothing.”

Keith looked at her for a beat. He thought she might not elaborate, but before he could ask, she went on.

“Keith, I must confess to you: if I had known what I know now, I’d have never married Takashi.”

His heart leapt into his throat. He thought he might get the urge to vomit, swallowed hard a few times. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve been a horrible wife.” She sat very still, manicured nails against the neck of her glass, but she did not raise it. “I truly regret causing him such agony. He was my friend.”

“Allura.” Keith gripped the edge of the cushion under his thighs. “It’s not your fault. It’s…” His chest thundered, felt like it might explode. “It’s me. It’s me, Allura, I’m the one.” 

Now Allura drank. “If you mean you’re the one who killed my father, that would be a shock to me. If you’re talking about sleeping with Takashi, that I know.”

Trying to avoid sputtering in surprise, Keith bit his lip. “What?”

Allura waved it off. “I know you’re not the one who killed my father. I’m not from America, which I’m sure you know -- I only came to this country to study and practice law, but I left my father behind in our home country. And as he was a person of… particular political prominence, a sort of… criminal of ideology, if you will, I wanted to bring him to the United States as soon as possible. But, as you can guess, that’s no easy feat. I had to become a citizen myself, first, and there was only one way to do it quickly.”

Floundering, Keith struggled to let the pieces fall into place. Her strange accent, their brief courtship, the rushed engagement, separating so soon after the wedding…

“What are you talking about?” Keith asked, and the weakness in his voice betrayed his emotion. “He… asked you to marry him so that you could bring your father here?”

“Heavens, no.” Allura sighed, adjusted a pearl earring. “Has he really never told you? I proposed to him, not the other way around. He’d have never proposed to me of his own accord, I knew that from the start.”

“You… asked him?”

“Yes. After a few months, I knew my father’s time was short. His enemies were closing in, and there was nowhere to hide anymore. The only way for me to save him was to have him granted citizenship through me, through my marriage. I felt it was my duty. I found the first person who was close to me, who I knew was already in a vulnerable position.”

“What? What do you mean ‘vulnerable’?”

“Because of you,” Allura responded frankly. She gazed hard at him. “Well, at the time, I didn’t know it was you, specifically. But he always talked about a former lover from which he might never move on -- his words to me, while we were dating. He feared no one would ever accept him, knowing that about him. About how he’d go on loving this person until he died, and there was nothing that could be done about it. He never told me it was you, though I figured it out eventually. But of course, since my motivations were for protection of my family and not for love, I convinced him I was a perfect choice. I convinced him we were in love. That I would take him as he was. After all, he was convinced you no longer loved him. That you’d left him in the past for good. So he had nothing left to lose, really.”

As the details clicked into alignment, Keith’s face flushed, anger simmering in his ribs as he fought to rationalize the onslaught of information. His knuckles paled to white as he gripped the metal arms of his chair. 

“You lied to him,” he said, low in his throat. “You lied? About all of it? You never even loved him?”

“I loved him as my friend. As my colleague.” Allura folded her hands on the table, astute as ever. “But nothing more. We’ve never consummated our marriage, which I also made sure of with intention. Perhaps he’s told you we’ve never had sex?”

“No,” Keith muttered. “Didn’t mention it.”

“Well, that’s kind. Such an arrangement makes for an easier annulment, which I’d planned from the beginning, when I’d have asked him for separation once my father was safe. I assure you Takashi knew nothing of my plans, until yesterday. Once I’d received word that my father was dead, it hardly mattered anymore.”

“How can you be so cold about this?” Keith’s voice was quiet, but raw. He hadn’t expected to go here with her, but here they were. He might as well get it out. “You treated a man… a good man… like a bargaining chip.”

“Yes.” Allura’s sharp, ice-blue eyes narrowed. “And without even knowing all that, you went to bed with him, knowing he was someone’s husband. We all make choices that others might find cold and calculating, and clearly you made yours, like when you were copulating on his work desk.”

“I love him,” Keith snapped, a little louder than he intended. The attendant inside the hotel room peered out the glass door in curiosity, and Allura waved him away without looking back. She and Keith held each other’s eyes like dueling lions.

“And I loved my father,” she said. “How can we say with certainty whose life is worth more? Which of our aims were more or less justified? Takashi and I do this for a living, Keith. We put men on trial and flay them open to their deepest, ugliest motivations and use them to whatever advantage we must, and it isn’t always about the truth. We will never know the whole truth -- the objective truth -- only our perception of it. We weigh whatever facts we have, and we extrapolate the rest. And therein lies the Devil, as they say -- he’s always in the details.”

Keith finished his champagne as if in spite and sent down the empty glass. He was still staring at her, into her bright eyes, her steel composure. He hated her. He really hated her, but he hated more so that he understood her. He could never deny that he’d have gone to the same lengths, or even further, for Shiro. He’d have killed for him. Entering into a false marriage seemed nearly trivial compared to the ugliness he’d have considered in order to keep Shiro alive, to keep him out of danger. He had no retort, and it was infuriating.

“How did you know it was me?” Keith finally asked, his voice low. 

“Well, for one thing,” she said dryly, “he came out and told me about the affair before I’d even broached the subject. He didn’t mention you by name, of course, but I’d already deduced it.”

It hit Keith like a hammer to the skull; so Shiro had confessed to her. Whether or not he was trying to mend the marriage or break it, Keith couldn’t know. But he’d told her. And he’d been telling Allura about their relationship for months. How could he have been so cruel to Shiro for just protecting him? He was...just protecting him, like he’d done for almost a decade. It made Keith’s eyes well up at the corners. And now he’d been the one to call it over, again. Again.

“When we were first moving in together, a few weeks ago...I found this.” Allura reached into her bag and produced an aged Polaroid photograph, its edges yellowed with sun exposure, and handed it to Keith. He took it as if it were a bomb and stared down at the faded image.

It was a photo Shiro had taken of him, probably around Shiro’s second year of law school, in the old loft apartment with the rotting hardwood floors and the gutted ceiling with its loud pipes. Their first studio apartment together, where their bed and the kitchen and the dining room table were all in the same little room, where the massive windows preserved since the building was a factory caught the morning sun in blazing glory. The wall at the head of the bed was brick, and in the photograph Keith lay naked and partially draped with a white bedsheet, his hair mussed with sleep and probably late night sex, and he was looking back into the camera with shining eyes. He looked tired, but happy. So, so happy.

“He keeps it between the pages of a book of poetry,” Allura added softly. 

Keith swallowed, thought for a moment. “John Donne,” he guessed.

Allura’s expression lit up, as if pleasantly surprised. “Yes.”

“‘A Valediction’?”

“Yes. That’s precisely the page.”

Keith felt tears breaching the corners of his eyes, sneaking down one of his cheeks. He turned the Polaroid over in his hand, knowing by heart the sloppy penned message on the back that Shiro had written to him that bitterly cold October, the fall before he would graduate from undergrad, before Shiro would graduate from law school. The autumn before Keith would find out he was pregnant. 

 

Keith,

My sweetheart, my Keithy-cat, Happy Birthday -- 22!   
The time has flown by -- every day with you is an adventure.  
I can’t wait to see where we can go.   
I love you -- always

-T

A single, heavy teardrop landing on the tabletop startled Keith out of his trance. He hurriedly wiped at his eyes with the back of a hand.   
“I believe what they say is true -- that true love never dies,” Allura said, softer now. “Not everyone is lucky enough to receive such a thing in their lifetime. I haven’t. But…” She smoothed a hand over her silver hair, flat against her head. “If you are one of the lucky ones, you should hold on to it. No matter the cost. No matter what anyone else in the world thinks.”

“I do love him.” Keith recovered his composure, meeting her gaze with steadiness. “But he chose to marry you, no matter what you said or did or didn’t do. No one forced him to do that.”

“No, you’re right, no one forced him to.” She sighed and withdrew her hand, folding both in front of her again. “But I manipulated him. I chose a kind, wonderful man whom I considered a friend, and I took all this time away from him in which he could have been truly loved. I knew if I asked, even if he didn't know my reasons, he would say yes -- not because he really loved me, but because he was so clearly desperate to move on.” She let her eyes close, and she tipped her glass for the final remaining sip. “And I wanted so desperately to have my father back, and I told myself the end would justify the means. Any means. Love will drive a person to do things they never thought they would, and I think this rings true for Takashi, too.” She sighed through her nose, and her eyes flickered open again. “His love for you is so irrevocable, he’d marry someone else just to dull the pain of losing you.”

Keith sat in rigid silence, just watching her. A strange concoction of sympathy and rage held his tongue prisoner.

“In any case, you have every right to hate me. I don’t expect you to pity me. Now that my father is gone, I have no reason to be in Takashi’s life. I’ve decided to relocate to our partner firm in Los Angeles, and we’ll dissolve this marriage quietly.”

“I don’t pity you,” Keith returned, raspy with exhaustion. “I’m feeling a whole lot of things for you, but none of those things are pity. I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined my life.”

Allura almost laughed, the softest snort that sounded on the border between miserable and amused. “Please. Not even I could stand in the way of true love, if it is true.”

“That’s pretty arrogant, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. Not when I’m so confident in it.” She straightened the front of her white blazer, stood up from the table. “I think you should go now, Keith. I’ve said what I’ve needed to say, and I appreciate your time. This is where we part ways.”

Keith stood up. They looked at each other, didn’t touch, but their gazes were level. 

“Good luck, Allura,” Keith said slowly. “And I am sorry. About your father.” 

“Thank you, Keith.”

She stood and watched him exit through the expensive suite, and he didn’t look back.

_______________________________________

 

January. Blustery, freezing, snow falling outside the window of Shiro’s dorm room. Kinkade was spending the weekend at his parents’ house on the coast. Keith was spending the weekend in Shiro’s bed.

They were under the covers together, tucked close. Shiro leaned to one side to turn the volume knob of the radio down low, almost inaudible. “What are you reading?”

“Mm,” Keith mumbled, turning a page. “Just poetry.”

Shiro cocked an eyebrow. “Spicy poetry?”

Keith felt his face flush, and he laughed. “What? No.”

“You just look like you’re reading something naughty.”

“I am not.” Keith brought the book closer to his face, peering at Shiro over the hardcover spine. “It’s about love, not fucking.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Keith scoffed and shut the book with one hand. “Fine, it’s both, I guess.”

“Read it to me.” Shiro stretched out on his side, grinning, his dumb smiling face propped up on a hand, leaning on his elbow. Irritating. Adorable.  
Keith heaved a sigh as if it were a chore and opened the book back up with his nose. “It’s gonna bore you,” he said.

“No, it won’t.”

Keith cleared his throat, read aloud:

“As virtuous men pass mildly away,   
And whisper to their souls to go,   
Whilst some of their sad friends do say   
The breath goes now, and some say, No: 

So let us melt, and make no noise,   
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;   
'Twere profanation of our joys   
To tell the laity our love.”

“So… he’s telling me not to brag about the hot boy I’m squeezing?”

Keith rolled his eyes, smiling. “He’s saying when you’re grieving over someone -- when you’re missing them -- it cheapens the beauty of the relationship to complain to everybody, when no one would really understand your love.”

“Mm,” Shiro replied. “Keep going.”

“Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,   
Men reckon what it did, and meant;   
But trepidation of the spheres,   
Though greater far, is innocent. 

Dull sublunary lovers' love   
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit   
Absence, because it doth remove   
Those things which elemented it. 

But we by a love so much refined,   
That our selves know not what it is,   
Inter-assured of the mind,   
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. 

Our two souls therefore, which are one,   
Though I must go, endure not yet   
A breach, but an expansion,   
Like gold to airy thinness beat.”

“Humans blame themselves for natural disasters,” Shiro mused. “Like it’s a punishment. But it’s not.”

“Mm.”

“A love so refined that you don’t know what it is?” He studied Keith’s face. “Guy doesn’t like labels, huh?”

Keith laughed. “The assurance of being love is… in the mind, not the body.”

“Hmm.”

“See, it’s not about fucking.”

“Why can’t I miss your body?” Shiro’s gaze flickered from Keith’s face to his bare shoulders, the thick blanket that lay over his naked chest. The look of hunger, of bliss, sent a little shiver up Keith’s spine.

“If our souls were one, you wouldn’t need to,” Keith joked.

“Not fair, but keep going.”

“If they be two, they are two so   
As stiff twin compasses are two;   
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show   
To move, but doth, if the other do. 

And though it in the center sit,   
Yet when the other far doth roam,   
It leans and hearkens after it,   
And grows erect, as that comes home. 

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,   
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;   
Thy firmness makes my circle just,   
And makes me end where I begun.”

“How is this not about fucking?” Shiro complained. “Stiff. Erect. Firmness. Keith, this is about fucking.”

“Stop!” Keith laughed, shutting the book again. “The stiffness of compasses. Like, you know -- reliability. Direction. Laws of physics.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Compass needles are erect. They have to be, to point home.”

“Yeah.”

“It makes complete, non-sexual sense.”

“Also sexual sense.”

Keith drew the covers up to his chin in mock modesty. “You’re an animal.”

“I am.” Shiro shifted, and Keith relaxed as he settled on top of him, the thick layer of bedcovers between them. The older man leaned close to kiss at his neck, toy with his earlobe with playful teeth. “But I’m on your chain, baby.”

“Do you want to be free?” Keith murmured, kissing back at his jaw, his lips tickled by rough black stubble. 

“No.” Shiro breathed it against his collarbone. “No, I want you to tell me what to do. Like a dog.” His lips moved, and his chin edged the covers down, and he kissed his way between Keith’s tits in a messy line. 

“Lick me clean.” Keith drew in an unsteady breath. Shiro let out a soft groan from deep in his chest against Keith’s skin, and Keith cradled his face as he slid down his belly and beyond.

 

______________________

 

Me [10:41am]: Shiro, I love you. I love you so much.  
Me [10:42am]: I’m sorry.  
Me [10:42am]: I have always loved you.   
Me [10:43am]: Can we talk?

Takashi [10:51am]: Yes. Of course. Where should I meet you?  
Takashi [10:51am]: I love you.


End file.
